Forever and Always
by Apprentice08
Summary: From my trilogy of The Watcher: This was what he did, often when his nights were long and grueling. When no cases were present and all his experiments done; when his violin had dried up of weeping melodies he would come here as she slept... sherlolly explicit material between two... reader beware. )
1. Chapter 1

PART I

FOREVER AND ALWAYS

A cool breeze blew in through the window, pale yellow sheer curtains rippling out gently likes waves across a resting lake. Though the city outside was bright, despite the hour, a faint trace of moonlight poured in casting strange shadows across the room, fading as it crossed the small space and creating a strange sheen of saturation.

A man, dark and brooding, sat in the inky depths of a corner, his leg crossed over his knee and his left hand resting on the arm of the plush red chair. His right arm, bent at the elbow, slowly gave way to angle more as his long thin fingers brought a cigarette to lips.

As the end lit up from the cool air passing through, bright blue eyes and a strong nose were revealed in a ruddy red light. Spiraling up like dancers on a stage, the breeze from the window caught the creeping smoke and created a slipstream out the bedroom door that was perfectly cracked.

All was planned for, every possibility prepared for and every eventuality expected. His eyes had not shut in minutes despite the smoke burning his eyes and half lidded pupils dilated as his fingers gripped the arm of his chair.

Suddenly, the stillness was broken by a sigh rising from the depths of the room and his nails dug further into fabric.

Hungry lips pulled in another deep drag as the breeze blew in again and with a heavy swallow his Adam's apple bobbed.

Across the room, less than eight feet away, another sigh crawled through the air in a lazy almost desperate fashion, then a small moan and movement.

Nestled in the pale moon's light lay the form of a nude woman resting beneath light cotton sheets. All her curves revealed, her soft smooth skin exposed and her hair cascading down about her shoulders and face.

The man's pupils grew larger still as the feminine form rolled onto her back, one breast sliding free and lightly undulating in the night air, the other half hidden though both nipples were hard and pressing.

"Auh- god- Sherlock-" A desperate and lust filled call sounded out softly, sorrow and want lacing an unconscious voice. Another gasp and then the small form raised off the bed as heels gently dug into the mattress.

The man in the corner stilled, his sharp eyes watching the woman who was moving gently as if with a lover yet utterly alone.

This was what he did, often when his nights were long and grueling. When no cases were present and all his experiments done; when his violin had dried up of weeping melodies he would come here as she slept.

Sitting in this chair, shrouded in darkness, and smoking a cigarette that did little to help him soothe the ach.

In these late hours, moments before dawn, he would contemplate his life choices, condemn and berate himself for his lack of faith in the world and then,for a brief moment, he would allow his walls down.

He would remove the thick rusting bars that lay like a heavy burden on his heart and he would _indulge_. Opening doors in his mind palace that were so often chained shut and locked tight.

He would let himself feel things, powerful things, things that normal people deemed private and quite possibly indecent. Desires would sweep through him and he would watchwhile she slept.

He would watch her while she dreamed of him...

Dreamed of him stroking into her, gripping her hips and burrowing into the nape of her neck with her hair smelling like death and lavender.

She dreamed of him every night he had found. Not always so lust filled, sometimes she simply spoke his name. Called to him, as if he was a long ways off, just out of reach, an unattainable thing that could never be tamed.

He supposed, if he thought about their two very different worlds, he actually was. And when he would come here to indulge and watch her, he found he did not like that idea, not one little bit.

Other times he'd catch his name with words like forceps, ligature and skull. They'd be at Bart's in that dream he wagered with him standing beside her doing strange uncharacteristically simple things. Like handing her tools or getting her coffee.

Dreams were funny that way. The subconscious always has a way of finding the most odd bits and bobs to throw at you, things that never make sense nor actually occur in the land of the living.

"Oh- god-" he starts at the sound of her murmured groan, breaks away from his scrambled thoughts and his sharp eyes return to the bed. A tongue slowly slides over a bottom lip, the soft flesh falling prey to teeth that bite to hard.

It was these nights, these nights of breathy gasps and gently thrusting hips that he found his baser desires much harder to control. These were the nights that truly tested his resolve. He let his feelings, desires and _wants_ free for one single reason. The ability to enjoy and immerse himself in _her_ want, in _her_ love for him.

She adored him, pined for him and Sherlock Holmes knew it. Yet, he could not give himself to her, to his baser desires. For though he often felt on nights like these that his heart might burst and his loins strained in protest, he could not bring himself to damn her like he had all the others.

He could not pull her fully into his world and let his carefully controlled feelings be known. It would be selfish; put her and himself in extreme danger and make the work near impossible to do.

For if he had her, what need would he have of the work? And if he didn't have the work, who would he be? Another schmuck on the tube- a boring suit- a less intelligent version of Mycroft.

Shivers of fear and revulsion came at the idea of being anything but himself and who he was. Looking back over his life there were very few things he would change if any at all. His views on humanity were absolute and logical, his ability to reason and deduce were very rarely, if ever, wrong. He was near unstoppable, the only competition being his brother, who for the most part hated "leg-work" and simply couldn't be bothered.

Another fear often struck him, as he sat and allowed his usually collected thoughts to scatter, if he were to give in to this petite woman before him and he were to grow bored, she would be far worse off after, then she was now.

For now she could imagine and dream, the ache of pain and longing in her chest seemingly huge to her, but minor in comparison to the pain she would feel should he succumb, use her and then leave.

While Sherlock liked to imagine he was better than that, more mature than that, he could not ignore his true nature. He could not deny that even if he loved her, there was a chance however small, that he may grow tired of it all. The things required of him during such a domestic affair becoming tedious and ever harder to understand as the months wore on and each new hurdle of a budding romance began.

There would be no savior for her, and he could not be her white Knight in shining armor, no matter how many knighthoods he received. Not that he'd ever commit to taking such an honor, despite his brothers frustrations on the matter.

So he only watched, listening to her feathery gasps and urgent calls to him, assaulting the bed and it's pillows with seeking hands that he could so easily restrain-

She was petite, he was not and despite the fact everyone seemed to realize he wasn't as tall as they had originally thought, he was by far, munching bigger than Molly Hooper.

He often deduced that intimacy with Molly would be like putting a one size too small leather glove on his hand.

Far too tight and grippy. With a sleek hot wetness that swallowed him with one harsh thrust-

Sherlock felt his body react at the image, his hand nearly jerking to his groin in protest of its activity.

It had been so long since he'd had real intimacy or any kind of extended physical contact that often stray thoughts would cause severe discomfort. But he chose this life, chose the discomfort and the fight against outer pressures to engage in carnal behavior.

Logic was cold, calculated and true. No pain, no fear of being hurt or let down and no distractions. No sentiment meant no mess and that meant an easier life for the man whose life was far to complicated and dangerous as it was.

Truth be told at this point in his life, at the age of 36 he feared if he were to give in, he would not be able to pull away. He would descend into the madness of passion, desire and- love. That gooey chemical defect, the sticky and often stagnant pull of domestic bliss, the very idea making his stomach churn and his brain swell in panic.

And he knew he'd not have the control over his desires as he did with his logic. If he indulged it would consume him so totally he almost feared his own deductions of how he might overwhelm her with his 15 year long celibacy being broken.

In just a few seconds he could convince her to kiss him, no less than ten he would have her on her back, putty in his hands and weeping for release. Fifteen seconds and he would be dominating every inch of her, supping from her body the very essence of her pure and loving soul. Sateing his neglected appetite for as long as he could.

Over and over he would take her, bind her to him, wrap her heart ever tighter around his finger until he was all she saw, smelled and knew. He could reprogram her, fine tune her skills until she was the perfect lover for him.

And she wouldn't even know.

His heart was beating fast now, palms sweaty and brow creased as his eyes fluttered closed and a slow breath was drawn in over his lips. He shuddered at the imagery his sex starved body threw at him and reluctantly adjusted his sitting position to accommodate the all too familiar discomfort in his lower region.

In a way, he really was just a beast, an animal desperate for release, for a mate. His carnal desires so much stronger than most due to his own neglect. But still, even in this shaky nearly destroyed state he resisted.

Because of the aforementioned fears of how he could twist his sweet innocent Molly into anything he wanted, to do anything he wanted, manipulate her to the point of utter destruction.

She'd not even be a shadow of the woman he loved-

His eyes jumped open at this realization, and he slowly stood. Striding to the window he ignored the woman now lying silent upon the bed, twisted and wrapped in the sheets in such a seductive manner. He would lock down his mind palace as soon as he got home. For now he needed to leave lest he do something regrettable.

He almost escaped, almost made it another night before, suddenly, she called to him.

"Sherlock, please, I need- now! I need it now-"

He stopped at the window, eyes trained hard on the sill. He flicked the cigarette out and felt his eye and mouth twitch in anger. He needed to leave, but his transport was not listening. Normally, before he left, he took the time to shut all the doors and windows he opend in his mind. To labour through re-caging the metaphorical trap on his heart and reorganize his chaotic mind.

For some reason, tonight it had gotten out of hand too fast. So vivid and visceral were his feelings and thoughts he had worried he might approach her sleeping form.

In his rush he had not bothered to reign in his body and it's impulses, the doors not barred and the shackles not locked. And as she called out to him again in her sleep, her hand slowly moving to rub her own breast in a rather pathetic attempt by her subconscious to live out what she was dreaming, he found himself turning towards her. Slowly and with much restraint he gazed upon her wilting body, heat he swore he could taste filling the space between them.

His hunched and tense frame moved to stand next to the bed, looking down on her partially exposed form with no shame or guilt and his pupils so wide the blue of his iris was no longer a stunning feature but more like the blinding thin rim of the sun during an eclipse.

His breathing was even but his heart was hammering, the sound of blood gushing into his ears and his fingers clenching hard into his palms.

"Sherlock- more. Please do more!" she murmured as her hips began to lightly thrust again. Her hands reaching out to grip air and her hips starting to buck more furiously. The very light sheen of sweat on her face and the ruddy red of her cheeks brought him to his knees at the side of her bed as his groin continued to strain against fabric that had never felt so tight.

"For _god's sake_ how I want you." he whispered amongst clenched teeth and clamped eyes, his hands now fisting the sheets nearest him and his nostrils flaring.

"Yes, Sherlock- yes, like that- just there!"

"I can only imagine what my dream self is doing to ravage and ruin your supple little frame, I'd take you beneath me if I knew I wouldn't hurt you-" he rambled into the side of the mattress. Perhaps, if he verbally admitted this to himself it would ease the strain and allow him to go-

"I love you Sherlock-" she breathed as sweetly as a summer wind. Shoulders tensed and he looked up to her then, a pain shooting through his chest and he knew he would have to lock down this overpowering sentiment soon or else he would do something very not good.

"I know, but I am poison to your veins- I am so bad for you. You must believe me, I've done all that I can to put you off. Why won't you listen?" The desperation in his voice was uncharacteristically prevalent and he felt utter shame and disgust wash through him as he heard his voice pleading with this woman. Nearly begging, and Sherlock Holmes never begged.

"Oh, Sherlock, I love you so much. Sherlock, please love me-" she said softly.

No doubt in her dreams they were now doing the most inane form of cuddling he'd ever be privy to. He took another deep breath as a wave of anguish washed through him followed by haute anger that he felt such despair in the first place, for a woman, _this_ woman.

"Will you take me again-" she breathed.

Shaking his head to try and clear his mind a painful smile took over his mouth and he wheezed out his words in utter torment, "So vivid. How can your dreams be so vivid-" his own imagination fed him more images of Molly being flipped onto her stomach, his knees gently pressing her legs apart.

 _Take her now!_ A voice whispered in his mind, caressing and seeping into his soul like so many of the drugs he had taken in his youth.

His length twitched and Sherlock sucked in a breath before jerking to stand in shock, sweat on his brow and his hands shaking.

 _Claim her Sherlock, she's begging you to. Consume her!_

"Shut up!" he hissed as he went to turn away, his hand flying back and forth in front of his face before raking through his hair in a near crazed frenzy..

"Sherlock, love, just a kiss goodbye?"

He stopped and his head slowly turned to look at her, his mouth parted and his eyes laid heavy with fear, "Merciful God help me-" he whispered though he believed in no such being.

 _Just a kiss, claim her mouth! Consume her! Kiss her now! She's yours anyway, she belongs to you- Take HER!_

"Shut. Up!" he nearly barked too loud before his eyes found purchase on Molly's face. His pupils scanned down the length of her sheet clad body, lingering on the V-shaped crevice that had formed near the small entry to her womanhood.

"Just one, please love, one to wear to work, one little peck-"

Sherlock let out a shuddered breath and closed his eyes in resolution, it was too easy a set up but his bodies will had won the moment he lost control of his normally tightly reigned emotions.

He turned back and sat down on the bed next to her removing one of his gloves and gently letting his knuckles rub feather light down her cheek.

"Just one-" he whispered more to himself than to her as he leaned down, his hands placed on either side of her pillow. He stopped himself an inch away, his stormy dilated eyes staring at her calm face, devoid of anything but innocents a naive beauty. Before he could think better of it he moved forward and took up her lips.

As she slept, he claimed her mouth though the kiss was more subtle than that in an old black and white movie, he placed his lips on hers as he breathed in through his nose to catch her scent.

She remained asleep, or so he thought.

Suddenly a tongue gently lapped into his mouth and fingernails ran along the follicles of his scalp. A moaned escaped into her mouth like from that of a schoolboy who had just touched a girl for the first time.

Eyes shooting open, realization of his current predicament propelling him through the heat of his baser instincts and towards reality, he tried to pull back. For all he was worth he tried but the woman's sweet supple mouth and caressing fingers kept him pliant a moment too long, he moaned again for he knew he was utterly helpless and then her eyes were open.

Sherlock could see the clarity coming to the forefront of her mind as she realized what she was doing and who she was kissing.

Instantly she released him and the detective stood quickly, taking the moment of shock as an advantage before racing to the window and trying to duck through.

In an instant the light was on and he froze, a deer blinded in the headlights, his foot on the sill and his hands ready to launch him out into the darkness of the night.

"Sherlock- don't go!" her voice was desperate, one hand clutching the sheet to her chest, the other suspended mid-air.

Reluctantly he turned his head, though his face was turned down his eyes managed to glance up through his curls and he studied her face quickly. She did not look angry, only shocked and hopelessly trying to keep him there.

The red tinge that had splattered her cheeks still lingered, her eyes half crazed and her hair a mess, clad only in a rumpled sheet she looked like any man's wet dream.

"Please-" she begged him and a heat flashed through his abdomen at her tone.

"Molly, I need to go." he said trying to remain strong, trying to remain the good man who was just a little off and not the bad man who could play nice.

"No, you don't. You could stay, you can stay, please- stay." so soft were her tones, so gentle and welcoming and Sherlock's eyes screwed shut as he forced words from his mouth, words that he didn't want to say but knew he had to say.

"Don't be ridiculous Molly, why would I want to stay with- you." he had stopped and stumbled over his last two words as he watched her rise from the bed, the sheet still hugging her body like a gown. Her eyes looked at him so intently it made his length jerk again and he had to fight back a wince and cold suck of air.

"Because I know you want to." it was a soft statement, the uncertainty in her voice nearly hidden by her conviction, but she always had a low sense of self-worth and that would probably be his only way out of this, regrettably it would have to be done- to save Molly and to save himself.

Sherlock released his hold on the window and lowered his foot back into the room. "you'd do best to leave the deductions to the professionals Molly. You're rate of error is appalling and I've no time for games."

Molly moved closer and Sherlock placed his hands behind his back to hide how tightly he was gripping his fists. She shouldn't be advancing on him, this was where she should be recoiling- a cold spike of anxiety drilled into his gut and he found himself taking a step back as Molly came to stand before him. She placed a dainty hand on his chest, her honey brown eyes gazing at him with something akin to devotion and she brought her mouth up to his cheek, "this isn't a game- at least, not anymore. I'm not going to let you run from this. I love you Sherlock-" she breathed the last part into his ear, her nose close enough to get tickled by his hair. She did not see his eyes close or his lips roll together as he felt more heat building in his brain, pressure and want clawing away inside his skull.

"Molly-" he warned as her hand came up his chest to run through his hair and Sherlock felt himself loosing, felt his knees beginning to buckle.

"I love you Sherlock, and I want you to take me to my bed- I want you to do anything you like- I want you-" she blushed and looked away, hardly the time to appear the prude but this was Molly Hooper and despite her obvious experience in the area Sherlock knew he made her feel rather inadequate.

One of Sherlock's hands came free of his grip and strayed up to her chin, he took it firmly between his fingers and steered her to look into his eyes, them being a dead give away of his current state and lack of control.

"Dont." he ordered softly.

Her brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and sadness and Sherlock gently leaned down to kiss her forehead, breathing in again in his determination to commit her smell to his memory. It was an intoxicating smell, so often he would get tiny wafts of it but he decided that now, he wanted to know her smell always.

"Please- don't." he whispered against her forehead, his eyes closing as he allowed himself to savour her warmth.

"Sherlock, I-" But she stopped herself, perhaps thought better of it and then tilted her head up and gently brought her lips to his. Muscles stiffened, eyes scrunched shut and a low hum came from his throat. A leather clad hand came up to cup her jaw, his other hand slowly looping around her waist and pulling her closer against him.

 _Yes! God yes! Let me have her, please let me have her. So long, to long it's been ages and I want her so badly I love her let me have-"_

"No!" Sherlock suddenly blurted into her mouth as he pulled his face away, though his hands did not release their hold.

Molly's heavy breathing came in pants across his neck but he kept his head turned away, a pathetic attempt to win a battle he already knew was lost.

She kissed his throat, long lingering kisses that made his groin ach and his stomach flutter, his hands gripped harder, one fisting the sheet at her back, the other running up her jaw to tuck gently into her hair before he fisted at her roots and pulled her head back to a safe distance.

He looked down at her then and through panting breaths and clenched teeth tried to warn her off one more time, "Molly I am-" the word was there like acid on his tongue but he forced it out anyway, "I am _begging you_ , for the sake of our friendship, for the sake of your heart and mine, don't continue to tempt me- it will end so badly. For both of us."

A new emotion filled her eyes and Sherlock knew his pleas had landed on deaf ears for in her eyes was a brand of total defiance that he only knew to ever be in himself. She would not relinquish her hold on him, not now that _he_ was putty in _her_ hands and suddenly Sherlock realized he had gotten his deductions all wrong.

For it was not Molly Hooper who could be twisted and manipulated into the perfect lover, who could be seduced into some dalliance that would end horribly with her heart shattered, but him.

In this moment she was all he saw, smelled and wanted. She had him wrapped around her finger. It had taken her five seconds to break his will, ten seconds to get him to surrender and in the next five he would be consumed by her and begging for more.

She brought her hands up, gently cupping his jaw while she stood on tiptoes and leaned in for the killing blow. Sherlock's fingers slid from her hair, his hands trembling and his his lips quivering, "Molly-" he almost whined out in protest but she would have none of it.

She kissed him softly, her mouth opening and her tongue gently urging him to open to her, and despite his strength of will he did. He became so pliant under her hands that he didn't notice her hands leave his face. He was so lost in the experience and taste that he gave kisses back to her readily.

"Mmmm." rang like a gong from his chest and up through his throat and into her mouth.

Molly's brow furrowed as she let out her own little gasp of ecstasy, no signs of halting their suddenly sinful ways in the near future.

The petite woman's hands ran up his chest and Sherlock felt her slender fingers start to push off his coat and suit jacket. They pooled onto the floor and at the dull thump that resonated, Sherlock was pulled back from this intoxicated moment.

But as he went to look down Molly played her cards right and released her sheet, quickly gripping onto his hands and bringing them to her hips.

Sherlock's overactive mind once again focused on her as he let out a gasp at the feel of her warm smooth skin.

"Dear god-" he murmured as he raked his hands all over her suddenly exposed body, his sensory perception nearly short circuiting at the sudden onslaught of input.

This left clever Molly to start the arduous process of unbuttoning his shirt and when she had finally succeeded, all while keeping Sherlock's lips busy with her own and his hands lovingly exploring her skin, she let out a triumphant squeak and instantly started to work on his belt.

Musician's hands instantly gripped onto her wrists and stilled her near frantic fingers, she had gotten so far that the sudden halt to her progress forced a frustrated moan from her throat.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked as he continued to pant hot breath across her face.

Molly suddenly felt a wave of calm wash over her, she knew then what she needed to say and as Sherlock chanced a glance down at her he saw a face that had been burned into his mind long ago.

 _What do you need?_

Her eyes were intense, her mouth slightly parted as she looked at him but also into him and saw all his fears, traumas and insecurities. No trace of his ego could be found and his confidence was buried beneath years of mistrust and neglect.

"Sherlock, stop fighting yourself. Stop fighting me." she brought her lips to hover over his and she closed her eyes as she nearly whispered, "Just let go, love. Stop resisting and embrace it, embrace your humanity and embrace me."

The palm of her hand slid down his chest, down his torso and stomach and onto his belt buckle. With a slow dexterity born from years of cutting up cadavers and meticulously exploring the cavities of the dead she slowly undid his belt and then popped his trouser button.

As her fingers slowly pulled down his zip she kissed his lips softly and then said in the most fevered way, "Let yourself indulge just this once, and I promise no matter what happens after, I will still love you in the morning. I will always love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes were black, his breath short thick gusts of need, "Promise me-" he whispered up to the heavens.

"Forever Sherlock, forever and always."

His pants pooled around his angels and before Sherlock could think of any further protest Molly kissed her way down his body until she rested on her knees in front of him.

She heard Sherlock suck in air, heard his hands smack against the walls on either side of him as he braced himself so Molly didn't hesitate, she gently pulled down his boxers and freed his length from its torturous trap.

Standing swollen and weeping the petite pathologist took the base of the shift in her hand and moved forward taking the head into her mouth.

"Aah!"

She worked slowly, moving it in and out between her wet swollen lips, licking, sucking and trying to work his already fevered brain into a utterly unusable wreck. Glorious sounds escaped his throat, his head lulling back and thumping against the wall, his hands leaving their braced perch to slide into her messy hair and then he started to guide her.

An easy rhythm was found, just how he liked it-

 _Slow, slow, fast, slow, slow, fast_

He could count her movements to the time of his favorite wants and he found himself hearing the music sear through his mind and knew that waltz would never play the same for him again.

As he rested on the verge Sherlock knew he wouldn't last long, it had been so long since he had done anything so decadent that his limit was not impressive, but he seemed to know that Molly would not care and as he gasped out her name he felt his length stiffen and he was plunged into the depths of his own end.

He gripped her hair tighter, more pleas of a rather indecent nature spilling forth from his mouth, "Swallow it, please swallow- swall- oh god!"

Tremors wracked his body and the pleasure was sharp and fast, spiking in his gut and leaving his legs a rubbery mess. Molly complied to his demands and kept him in her mouth until his seed was all but gone. She licked him clean, committing his taste to memory and taking in the smell and feel of his manhood.

When she finally released him she looked up at him, seeing a man who was never exposed in any sense of the word totally open and vulnerable to attack. His cheeks ruddy, his hair a mess and his lips swollen and caught between teeth that more often than not bit at anyone who tried to get close.

He was beautiful like this, totally undone and unprotected and she knew that no matter the outcome she would remember this Sherlock Holmes, a quivering mess of a man with lust in his eyes and completion twinging his brow.

When he finally braved to look down upon her he realized that this night was not over, for seeing Molly Hooper on his knees before him, a very small dribble of his seed on her lips, he was aware of another overpowering need fill his mind. And suddenly the only thing the normally snappy man could think to say was a resounding, "My turn-" murmured low and dark.

He gripped a hand back into her hair, pulling her up and gently stepping into her. She moved back, allowing him to float her towards the bed. A strange tango for two that would have looked like a power play from anyone else's view. He had given into her, had submitted, now it was her turn.

"Sit." he said softly and she complied. He fell to his needs at the foot of her bed and spread her legs apart. Molly's face had gone from calm and satisfied to shocked and hopelessly euphoric.

His large hand splayed between her breasts and he pushed her to lay down upon her bed, legs still dangling and knees bent.

His hands ran up her thighs before coming down to her crevice, palms pushing her legs apart and thumbs gliding down to part her most intimate area.

He stared then, looking upon the soft pink flesh and dainty lips and realized this was his new drug, whether or not he would be able to resist the temptation in the future was far beyond his abilities to deduce.

He didn't hesitate, he didn't bother to play or explore, he leaned forward and took her womanhood into his mouth.

The most tragic sound escaped from her, her body jerked and her hands instantly came to his hair.

He did not stop though, for he felt like being merciless, felt like gaining some of the control he had recently lost to this woman back. So he kept his ministrations fast but steady. Lapping, lickjng, sucking and pressing into her core, her small bundle of nerves.

"Oh Sherlock please, if you don't slow- slow down it will be over and-" But he didn't stop, couldn't stop. He was so far gone, tasting her, smelling her being consumed within her heady flavors and aroma that her own begging cries to let her savour the moment went unheard.

Her nails dug in, legs clenched around his head to try and slow his progress but his strong hands instantly gripped her thighs and forcefully pressed them apart.

"No no Miss. Hooper, you are at my mercy now, and-" he kissed her abused bud with little remorse, she jumped and bucked her hips unwillingly, trying to keep from losing this battle so quickly.

"I believe turnabout is fair play. I want you to cum, so- you will as fast and as hard and I want you to."

Before she could protest he was back at her again, paying special attention to her swollen nub. He knew she was close and knew the best way to get her to finally let go.

He flicked her clit quickly over and over with his tongue and just as she raised her hips he pressed a finger in to her swollen heat and hooked it just on the inside of her pubic bone.

Molly's world shattered and she let out a cry of his name so ardent and loud that he was sure those on the street below had heard.

He felt her muscles contract dangerously tight and he wondered what it would feel like around his length. Juices flowed out and a new more potent smell filled his nose, one that he instantly cataloged as Molly's own personal cocktail of sexual completion.

He removed his finger and started to drink from hr, sup the soul of her body just as he had in so many of his unbidden fantasies. It was like drinking a dangerously fine wine, far to good to waste a deep he continued to drink until her body fell still and her entire being turned to mush.

He stood then and moved around her bed to click off the lamp before he climbed into the bed and ever so gently took her hair in his hand and gave a small tug.

Molly moaned but Sherlock persisted and finally she started to press herself up the bed and back towards him. His fingers remained locked in her hair even after she was nestled next to him, his lips coming to kiss her shoulder, neck and temple.

"Sherlock-" she breathed out as his free hand came to gently cup and entangle in her pubic mound, "Please don't let this change anything. If we can't be more, don't let our friendship become less. I can handle a one night affair, but I can't handle never seeing you again. Please don't-"

"Shh, just lay here. Don't think, don't allow worry to diminish your afterglow. It's rather fetching in the moonlight."

Molly tried to turn but Sherlock tighten his fingers into bother her scalp and her womanhood and murmured into her ear, "No matter what happens the morning after, I will always love you Molly Hooper."

Molly let out a small sob, "Promise?"

Sherlock gave a small chuckle as his nipped at her shoulder, "All my life, forever and always."

In the morning when she woke he was gone, but instead of a hollow heartbroken feeling of anguish she found her heart swelling with content. And as she rolled over onto her belly to stretch her hand came across a price of soft fabric. Her eyes opened to see a blue scarf laying folded neatly on her pillow and the smile on her face was worth more than a thousand words.

A/n: please R&R I desperately want to know what you think. There is a part two if you think it is worth the read. Let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

PART I I

FOREVER IN A DAY

A/N: **I did not have time to write an Author's Note for Part I so I am writing a shorty now. So these three chapters are part of my Watcher series which was originally a sherlolly case fiction made up of 24 chapters revolving around a stalker(s) who was/were obsessed with Sherlock and Molly. As I don't have time to write the entire story and post it I thought I could take the three main encounters that Sherlock had with Molly during that plot and rewrite them into a trilogy/stand alone sherlolly mini-arch. So I've removed**

 **all the excess about the case and suspects and whatnot and turned them into this little thing.**

 **I much appreciate the favorites, follows and my first review from amherendeen. You asked for two so I shall post, I hope you enjoy.**

 **P.s. there is a lemon and other explicit scenes in this chapter so don't read if you don't like. Thanks!**

 **P.s.s Not edited and I own nothing.**

She's pressed between the metal filing cabinets in her tiny office and his broad purple clad chest. It's dimly lit as between walking in and shutting the door he did not give her time to flick the light switch to the ' _on_ ' position.

The blinds over the office window, which look out into the lab so Molly can keep an eye on things as she works on her computer, are drawn so those waiting for the pair on the outside are unable to see the seduction about to take place.

"S-Sherlock-" she tries to warn, but his hands have come up, one gripping her ponytail to keep her head in place, the other slowly pressing her lab coat out of the way before he tugs at her jumper and tucked in shirt.

His mouth is kissing the joint between her shoulder and neck; slow, easy and she can't help herself as her own fingers grip onto his coat; hanging like a cloak off his shoulders.

In this moment he is out of character, he is humming softly as he presses his lips to her skin and the distinct feeling of being claimed and dominated swells in Molly's groin. She could always- can always handle Sherlock in his regular form. Sharp eyes and harsh words, cold logic and calculating deductive reasoning with a blunt, nearly cruel, honesty are his norm. But this Sherlock, this unhinged sexual predator is not one she has ever really met, save once, in the darkened corners of her bedroom at four am on a Sunday. How does she proceed? How does she curb his enthusiasm? If she was being honest with herself she would admit that this new Sherlock had only emerged from the shadows once she had tempted him and refused to care about consequences and heartach.

This was her fault.

"Sherlock- wait, we can't just-"

"Shhh- we can." he murmurs against her ear as he tries to nuzzle his hand further down the front of her trousers.

"I haven't seen or heard from you since- oh my-" comes her breathy protest, though it's cut off as his hand finally manages to undo her belt, button and zip in mere seconds; his fingers slide down her front.

"Mmmm, terribly sorry- there was a case and I couldn't pass- for God's sake you're wet." he groans out the last part as he continues to try and reach her entrance, her lace panties seem to be giving him some trouble.

"Mary, John and Greg-" she gasps out Greg's name in shock as Sherlock's fingers finally find their goal and flick across her already electrified nub.

"We have exactly five minutes thirty seconds before they get suspicious so if you just _hush,_ I can _-"_

He is hitching his fingers into her warm heat, his thumb massaging her clit and his tongue running up the front of her throat. Her body jerks violently as he finally finds purchase and continues to finger her with a near crazed need. Her tiny body cornered by his massive one would seem like a date gone wrong if any outsider was watching. He isn't letting her move away, though Molly knows deep down she has absolutely no desire to do such a thing.

"Oh God!" Molly nearly cries out, she manages to keep her voice quiet and Sherlock hums in delight at her tortured strangled voice.

He's pressing his fingers deeper as his teeth lock onto her shoulder and he starts to gently suck, the hand in her hair gripping tighter, pulling her head to the side to give him better access to her swan like neck.

"S-Sherlock-" she breaths out, "Oh, god please-" she's stopped all arguments over their current sinful crimes, taking to clinging to him and burying her face into his chest.

"That's what I wanted to hear." he murmurs outloud, it seems more so to himself, a happy confirmation that his efforts aren't being wasted as his fingers pick up the pace and redouble their efforts.

She climbs quickly, her brow furrowing and her lips caught between teeth that are showing the desperation that comes with needed release.

When she tumbles over, Sherlock's lips find hers and he swallows her scream, his own body reacting quite readily to her release. His length his hard pressed against her thigh and he doesn't hesitate to gently rut against her.

As she comes down he leaves his fingers inside, feeling the aftershocks and tiny tremors that are still radiating from her core. He's kissing her gently now, drinking in her euphoria and disoriented intoxication, her swollen lips pliant under his ministrations.

"Now, let's begin again- will you _please_ come to Baker street tonight after work?"

Molly is so unaware of her surroundings, still focusing on his fingers which are now very subtly undulating inside her, she is feeling her muscles contract gently as Sherlock's fingers continue massaging her walls. She falls into this suspended afterglow, she can't actually think of a reason to say no- yet her subconscious must be watching out for her because instead of a yes she manages an "I don't know-"

"Wrong answer." he murmurs against the skin of her forehead as he lays a light kiss and then trails his lips down her temple to rest next to her ear, "Your resistance is admirable but I really must insist on your presence so-"

Sherlock releases her hair long enough to pull out his phone, send a text and re-pocket it.

"What are you doing?" she asks as she finally opens her eyes to look at him, feelings of disbelief are still resonating through her, that Sherlock is here with her- doing this of all things in her office with his three closest friends right outside the door. It's surreal and she can't help feel like she might be dreaming-

"I just bought myself 20 more minutes to persuade you-"

"But- aren't you on a case?"

"Yes. Yours-" he gives her another kiss, this time on her jaw as his fingers are in the process of unzipping her jumper and unbuttoning her blouse.

"My case?"

"Yes, I thought that was quite obvious, I am on your case to convince you to come over after- mmmm- work. Now let's see, I just made you cum in less than five minutes and I just procured twenty more minutes- at one orgasim ever five minutes that's- four, maybe more if I can find a sweet spot. Taking into consideration a few minutes for you to recover perhaps four is the best bet- either way it's only 7 o'clock now and you work until three o'clock in the morning. That's a long time to be on your feet after, say, a total of five orgasims- not to mention the red blotches that are sure to fill your cheeks and the number of hickeys I could leave on your exposed skin- people are sure to talk-"

"Alright!" Molly caves quickly, her body trembling at the sheer thought of what he was threatening, "Alright, Sherlock, just- just tell me why and I will do whatever you ask."

"Why?" he muses looking at her in confusion, his fingers finally slip from her entrance and Molly finds herself squirming- whether it is due to the fact she misses the contactr or that she is relieved she can't rightly tell.

"Yes. Why are you so set on me-" the breath hitches in her throat as his hands explore the skin around her waist line and his lips softly rub up and down her throat- his confusion over her question apparently not as important as the need to touch her.

"Molly-" he breathes into her temple before he takes up her face in his hands. A thumb, still wet from her earlier release, pressing against her lips. She looks into his eyes, now black and rimmed by a thin line of blue, half lidded and looking all the world lost in the moment and inclines her head.

"Everything since that night, that I have tried to do, is most assuredly compromised by thoughts of what we did- what we could be doing every night- I tried to warn you. I tried to keep you from opening up this door- told you for our own safety we shouldn't dive into some short lived dalliance of the flesh. You ignored my warnings and so- I have come into your place of work two weeks after that night and am trying to convince you to come to my home and-" he stops when his hand, which has been slowly working it's way up to cup her small breast, successfully moves under the fabric of her bra and clamps onto a hard nipple.

Molly jerks in shock against him, having been caught off guard as she has gotten so entranced in his words she had not noticed his creeping fingers.

His free arm loops around her waist and holds her to him tight as he pinches the little bud again, pulling forth another jerk from Molly whose mouth is open and eyes are shut in both shock and erotic surprise.

He brings his lips to run over her face in a soothing motion, up her nose and across her forehead before going back down the petite woman's nose to caress her lips.

"I want you in my bed tonight- I don't care about the consequence of your heart- or mine. I demand you- I order you to come over after work so that we may fall into this horrible decision together."

"Okay, yes I will I will-" he's hoisting her up now, pivoting to set her on the edge of her desk and he is yanking rather urgently at her trousers.

She can't say anything because she is too drugged from his hands and lips, too far gone to care and too hot to save them from what they have gotten themselves into. She wants to say no because she agrees with him- this will eventually end badly, but as his hands jerk her legs apart and his mouth latches onto the sopping wet flesh of her womanhood she can't bring herself to say anything.

He's drinking from her again, languidly like an infant on a mother's teat. His tongue is like a snake as it slithers and slides with such precision and practice that Molly can't stop her head from tilting back, her mouth from opening in a silent scream as her body builds again for something far more devastating than what had previously occurred.

She's burning for him to be inside of her but as much as she wants it something like their first time shouldn't be in such a place as this- and yet-

Her hands stray to his hair and she tugs hard, Sherlock's black eyes pop up just over the edge of her pubic bone and she is reminded of their first night and all the dreams she's had since.

"Do you want to- to-" But her words fail her and she hopes he can understand, hopes he will want to.

His eyes grow wide, his mouth moving up to join his eyes in her field of view. There is something dangerous in the look he gives her but she continues to look at him with her question laced across her face.

He stands then and leans over her, his hands coming to gently rub up and down her thighs, "The first time I cum in you I would much rather be able to savour it for as long as I can- this is not the best place."

Molly reluctantly nodes in agreement and she feels stupid for asking, her face flaring with red of another kind, embarrassed by his refusal.

His eyes are boring into her and suddenly a small smirk comes to the corner of his mouth, "You want to feel me inside you, is that it?" he's leaning closer now, one hand straying down to lightly touch her clit and the other hand following the curve of her hip until his fingers come to graze over the edge of her arse cheek.

Molly nods dumbfounded that he could tell, then again, she should really not be surprised. He's staring at her still, contemplating something before he brings his lips to rest next to her ear, "Don't be embarrassed, I understand your temptation- I'd be lying if I told you the same thoughts haven't been swirling around my own head. But I think the promise of tonight is well worth the wait and besides-" his voices drops an octave as he whispers softly into her ear, "I haven't finished tasting you yet."

Molly finds she can't say anything in response though Sherlock prompts her to gasp as his slender fingers gently glide up her inner thigh, "Shall we continue?"

Molly nods her head without a second thought and Sherlock quickly disappears back down below to finish her off.

When they walk out of her office John, Mary and Greg are just walking in holding coffees and Mary hands one to Molly, her intelligent eyes scanning Molly's face with a quick flick before her lips roll together and her eyes avert to the ground.

Molly tries not to let her face screw up in shock, she can see what is plainly written across the blond's face-

 _Mary knows- how could she know?_

Though the blonde says nothing and simply moves to stand next to John, she spares a glance to Sherlock who is speaking quickly to Greg about something of which Molly can't hear.

It happens so quickly, the goodbye, that before Molly knows it the small group of four is heading out the doors of the lab. She dares a glance up from some papers, her hands shaking so subtly that it would take someone like Sherlock Holmes to actually take note.

The man in question is the last one out the door, holding it open for Mary before he turns back to look at her and gives a cheeky wink.

Molly tries to hide a smile and as soon as he is gone she let's out a deep breath and realizes that this is going to be a really long night.

When she arrives at Baker street she doesn't know how to feel about what she is setting up to take part in.

Nerves are shot as she approaches the black door with the golden numbers and she sees a note.

 _Doors are open, come straight up._

Molly knows the note is meant for her, she removes it from the door and slips it into her satchel. Taking a breath she enters into the unknown realizing that before this night goes any further she must speak with Sherlock about things that are sure to diswayed him from taking further steps down this road.

Her heart aches at the thought but in her mind, as a "normal" person, she can't in good faith proceed, she needs something more than just whispered words and promises of sex.

Climbing the stairs is an arduous process and she thinks, not for the first time tongiht, that this could be a long terribly painful evening- suddenly she feels worn and a little too thin.

At the landing she hears it, the clear notes of a violin. Weeping into the air, it is a slow waltz that she is not familiar with. Her honey brown eyes slowly gaze up the last flight of steps to the thin sliver of light that emits from the cracked door and slashes onto the hall ceiling and walls.

Most waltzes don't sound like this one, _slow slow fast, slow slow fast,_ two notes pressing into the third in an almost sensual way. Her subconscious might say it's a waltz that one would listen to while they descend in to the sweaty heat of the night while in the arms of a lover.

But Molly Hooper isnt a philosopher or a poet so her concious minds simply wonders how a waltz can sound so- seductive.

She continues her climb and when she reaches the top her hand aims for the knob, shaky and a bit reluctant, only to see a bare foot toe the edge of the door and push it aside.

Brown eyes scan up slowly, first the foot, calf, then the knee. Followed by a thick thigh, all clad in light blue baggy fabric, his sleep wear she assumes. Eyes continue to scan up to the narrow hips hugged by elastic and a cotton knot. From there pale flesh is exposed as there is no shirt to cover a lean waist, broad chest or his strong shoulders. Her pupils following every curve up to a messy dark brown mop of hair that looks freshly washed, droplets of water still clinging to spiral ends and falling off into the shadows of the floor.

Her mouth is open in utter wonder and her brow furrows as she can't quite seem to function under the conditions she has just found herself in. For he is still playing, his eyes closed and his lips set into a neutral line but his arms, covered in sinewy muscles and scared flesh move like a ballet dancer and his bow slides sinfully light across the strings.

 _Slow slow fast, slow slow fast-_ and her own pupils dilate but she isn't aware, raw heat churns in her belly and her palms start to sweat in earnest.

This is the first time she has really seen him play, the one time at John and Mary's wedding decidedly didn't count in comparison to what she was seeing now.

He was actually _playing,_ not just reading music and repeating the verses, but pouring forth from his soul an enchanting melody that has already started to work it's magic on her.

That feeling of heady intoxication that has seemingly become a constant in her life now is flowing back into her brain and she feels her feet start to move forward as Sherlock steps back. He toes the door shut behind her, and leans in uttering a soft, "Be a dear and lock that door for me, would you?"

Molly nods though there is no point, his eyes are still closed as he moves to stand back by the window and continues to play. When she hears the deadbolt click into place her heart starst to truly thump in her chest with anxiety. She spins quickly, leaning on her hands against the door and watching him.

She drinks in his every movement, seeing the light sway of his body as he moves to the climax of the song. Noticing his fingers play the strings not unlike he had recently started to play her own body and a searing heat pools indecently between her legs at the thought.

What must he be thinking as he touches his instrument in a way that reminds her of how he has been touching her, did he consider her much the same- the cries and moans from her throat mimicking the sweet melodies of his most prized possession.

He is coming to the end now, she can tell because the repeated rhythm that has been haunting her and digging at her brain no longer seems to be pushing the song forward.

 _Slow slow fast, slow slow fast-_ and suddenly it occurs to her why it's praying on her mind so much- it's the same rhythm that she had followed when she had- his hand was in her hair and he was guiding her to the same- her eyes grow wide at this and a soft curse escapes her lips.

"My my Miss. Hooper, I can very nearly feel your thoughts pelting off my back."

Molly socks in a breath of air and kicks herself for not remembering his uncanny ability to read the tension in any room. For a man who claims to have such little understanding of the basics of humanity he always seems to know what someone is thinking by simply feeling the air surrounding him.

He pulls the bow across the string and one last silvery note echoes into the dimly lit room. Silence follows, it's thick and steamy and Molly feels like she might faint.

"There, wasn't that lovely?" Sherlock offers by means of segway, "I did change it up a bit but then you know me well enough to understand that unnecessary repetition offends me. What did you think by comparison?"

He turns to her, his eyes growing unfocused as he finally gazes upon her, a hidden smirk in the corner of his mouth.

"I've never heard the original I am sorry to say-" Molly starts, she is still leaning against the door, her hands holding tight behind her as she waits to see what is going to happen next.

"Well that just won't do. I shall play you the original sometime, then you can offer your opinions on my fine tunning. Afterall, you are the inspiration for the changes I made- a muse I suppose, if the term suits you."

"Muse?" Molly asks, though in all honestly she understands fully what he is implying and only wishes to hear _him_ explain it to her, perhaps it will give her a better understanding of what this thing they are taking part in actually means to him.

He eyes her quizzically, then turns to set his violin aside. When he finally deems to approach her Molly has never felt so small in her life and she swallows a lump in her throat.

"You're grasping at straws and though I can understand, there really is no need."

"Isn't there?" her voice is quiet, her head leaning back to thump softly against the door as he comes to tower over her. His hands remaining neutral at his sides but his eyes speaking volumes of his intent.

"Our first night together was stunning and earlier this evening you were a quivering mess under my hands- but you are reluctant to go further. I suppose I've given you enough reasons to be so unsure. I've already admitted that I don't care about the consequences of our actions. I don't care which one of us might get hurt in the process. It's rather selfish."

"It is." she replies in a soft voice, her eyes never looking away from him.

One hand comes up to rest by her head, the other slides under her coat to grip at her waist, he steps closer and leans his face in to truly level her, "But you need to answer me this, do you really care either?"

His proximity makes her groggy, her mouth opening in anticipation for the kiss which is sure to come. But alarm bells go off in the back of her mind and Molly knows he has successfully sidetracked her.

As his hand moves from the door to take up her chin Molly finds a strength within herself she didn't know she possesses and she moves out of his reach, pushing passed him only to halt near John's old chair.

"Honestly? I really can't say I do Sherlock. But there are somethings I need to know, things i need you to tell me. They are personal things-. Things I don't know if you can even answer."

She feels him shift behind her, "Try me." he offers in a soft purr of a voice and she's biting her lips and she closes her eyes and takes a breath, "How long- how long have you been coming into my room while I sleep. How long has this been going on?"

It's a fair question, but that doesn't mean he will answer. And if he does answer there is absolutely no guarantee it will be the truth.

The silence stretches on and she is ready to forsake her question and try to move passed it when she feels his hand slide up the back of her neck and his fingers wrap around her ponytail.

As he gently pulls her head to the side, his other hand moves up under her shirt to wrap around her front and nails press up under her bra to palm warm flesh and squeeze a nipple.

"Ah-" Molly breaths out as Sherlock rests his cheek against hers and murmurs softly, "I have been... allow myself minor indulgences on and off for many years. But if you need an exact date, I've been observing you sleep for exactly four years, eight months and seven days. Give or take, considering there were some times when I may or may not have been high and don't exactly remeber what I did those night."

Molly feels herself stiffen at his thuroughly honest answer and it occurs to her that- "The year before your fall?"

"Mhmmm." he murmurs as he nibbles on her ear and starts to sway gently with her despite the fact that there is no music.

"And while you were… away?"

"Anytime I was here in country you can bet that I stayed by your bedside at least a few nights."

"And I've never woken-" his hands are massaging her breasts now, his lips kissing her throat and his feet moving with slightly more vigor, Molly is unaware as she tries to turn her head to look at him, "No, you've never woken up, but then to be fair, I've never allowed you to. Now, stay just as you are." he says as he turns them and then starts to count, "one two three, one two three- yes, that's it, now- try to glide…and….perfect. Just like that."

Before she knows it they are waltzing around the room, his lips coming to hum that haunting melody into her ear absentmindedly.

Molly can't say Sherlock's voice is quiet as impressive as the rest of his skill set, of all the things he did practice, singing was apparently not one of them. But, the intimacy alone makes her feel heavy, his deep baritone resonating through her, sending chills down her spine and as her eyes close the rest of her questions seemed to melt into the background.

Hands were running up her sides, kisses that are light as feathers pepper her shoulder. She's in a strange trance now. Her partner freeing his hands from the confines of her clothes to gently take up her hands and raise them above her head. And still his gentle humming soothes her deeper into a heated pool of serenity.

She feels his hands dragging her jumper and top over her head, feels him guiding her arms down again so he can unhook her bra and slide it off her shoulders.

But the part of her that should care, that has questions for him about this whole ordeal is still buried beneath piles of lust and craving.

And they are still dancing, he is humming softly and she feels his bare chest against her bare back and the heat he is emanating is intense. She can't think or focus, all she hears is the soft tune and his hands guiding her around like a shadow dancer. She so badly wants to savour this moment but a sobering thought crashes through her gates of revelry as she feels his fingers undo her trousers, "Spin for me-" he says softly, and while Molly complies her eyes finally open to see the reality of where she is.

Baker street stares back at her, Sherlock is on his knees before her and he has her panties and trousers around her ankles. She is completely naked and she gasps and loses her balance. As she topples down Sherlock let's out a small laugh and moves to catch her.

Perhaps it is due to years of running around like a wild blood hound, always on the scent for the dangerous criminals the London under belly throws up, maybe it's because he is so close to her and his reflexes are just that good.

But as Molly goes down, preparing herself for a bash to the floor with her face the detective manages to pivot and scoop her up, making a graceful transition into a slow spin before giving a very dark chuckle and walking over to his chair.

He sits down with her spread across his lap, uses his fingers to press off the clothes that have gotten tangled around her feet and nearly caused her a split lip for the trouble. She is totally bare before him, her left side pressed into his chest and her feet pressing dainty onto the chairs arm.

"Much better, if I do say so myself, could have done without the attempted suicide onto my floor, but who's to say it didn't work out as planned."

Molly stares at where she was just standing before her eyes scan across the floor, over her exposed crotch and then to Sherlock's rather dark eyes.

They sit there like that, one of his musicians fingers tracing lines up and down the back of her neck, the other hand resting on her thigh, dangerously close to her heat. They say nothing, for at this point what can be said, and their eyes don't waver as they lean in slowly.

As they kiss Molly's wishy-washy emotions seem to come to a dead stop, her heart calms and her nerves fizzle into nothing. The surreal uncertainty of the entire situation is finally shoved so far away all she can do is experience the moment.

"Sherlock-" she says softly to him, "Mmm?" is his only reply as he continues to kiss her lips and sooth her worry.

"I love you." it's whispered out, so soft and gentle it mimicks the final resonation of an echo, faded after having bounced around the canyon walls to many times.

He stills but not in a way that would depict discomfort, just as his fingers glide between her thighs he starts to whisper, "I-."

Two fingers slide into her and Molly moans in the most splendid way. He bends them, starts to massage her hot spot and she pants like a dog in heat.

As he assaults her core with nimble fingers his free hand takes up her pony, a thing that Molly has noticed is his favorite hand hold. He pulls her head with a little more force than is needed but it only adds to her own arousal.

"I-" he tries to start again but Molly brings the tip of her fingers to his lips and smiles her sweet and innocent smile,"You don't have to say anything Sherlock."

He pulls back to look at her, his brow taking its turn to finally furrow in worry and his eyes study her face with a quick curiosity, "Are we going through with it? I'll stop all this- right now if you ask me to. I'm not one to push but I'm losing the last shred of my hard taught self-control. You need to answer me, now." his voice is rough and she can tell that if she had given in as soon as she had walked through that door he would have already been on his way to climax this very second.

Sherlock has been stalling the whole time, giving her a chance to decide if this is what she really wants. She knows within seconds that she wants this, more than anything else she has ever wanted in her life, so with a brazen cheekiness she has never known herself to possess she leans close and in a lust filled voice murmurs, "The game is on, Mr. Holmes."

That is what he wants to hear and so speeds his fingers up in order to push Molly over. She cannot fathom how he has gotten so good at sending her into oblivion so quickly but she doesn't give a thought to it as she falls into the depths of her own experience. Her body is on fire and the pleasure is sharp as one of her scalpels. Perhaps it's because she has wanted him, this moment, for so long that everything is ten times more intense than it should be.

But while her body is still basking in the aftermath and tremors still consume her sensitive core Sherlock doesn't hesitate and lifts her up, positioning her above him, her bare breasts facing him and only inches from his mouth.

His hands grip fast to her hips and help her to get into a more comfortable position. He doesn't wait to yank down his bottoms and boxers just enough to free his swollen member and as he guides Molly to the crown of his throbbing length he gasps out words of adoration and desperate truths, "Four years, four years of waiting for- yes!" he hisses in relief as Molly's entrance is finally low enough for his length to start to push in.

She let's out a curse and small cry for in this moment she realizes he is bigger than she remembers and is about to push her to a limit she has never dreamed of crossing.

Fingers are digging in so hard the spikes of pain draw Molly from her euphoric pleasure and she barks out his name, "Sherlock!"

"Almost- nghk, there-"

"huh- oh my god-" Molly's eyes are screwing tightly closed and her teeth are gritting as her body slowly stretches to make room for him.

"Like a fucking glove- I knew it!" Sherlock gasped out in excitement.

"Auh, g-glove?"

"Nothing, never mind just- ah!"

They are both panting now, and she is still sinking onto him. It isn't until she hears Sherlock grunt that she realizes she is all the way down, utterly stuck and impaled.

"This is going to be rough." Sherlock whispers to himself but Molly just leans down and kisses him. Her fingers run up through his hair and he groans out in frustration.

"Ready?" Molly asks deciding to take the lead, it's Sherlock's turn to nod, dumbfounded and speechless, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open just a little too much.

She wraps her arms around his neck and breathes in sharply as she raises herself up and then slides back down. "My god-" he whispers in a strained voice.

Molly doesn't stop, she repeats her actions again, slowly starting to build a rhythm. His hands come to grip into the tender flesh of her arse as he starts to buck his hips against her downward thrust.

"Ah, oh god- god oh god oh god-" Molly can't stop the blasphemy from escaping across her lips. She leans forward and presses a hard nipple to Sherlock's lips, "Suck-" Molly orders in a breathy tone, Sherlock is swift and obedient in his compliance. Latching on to the hard bud and switching between nipping teeth, a flicking tongue and a hard sucking sensation.

An arching back, smooth and milky white as porcelain, soon is covered in bright pink scratches, Sherlock's fingers are to blame. Her nipple is throbbing from his mouth and so she leans back to pull it free from his teeth, Sherlock trying to lean forward in an attempt to recapture his pray. She sates his appetite by turning and offering up her other breast, her eyes speaking an silent order to switch.

His eyes darted from the abused bud to the new one and he instantly follows her comands, his fingers hooking about the back of her shoulders to pull her back towards him.

Her stomach is pressed to his now and so she stops long enough to shift her pelvis forward and up before she presses back and down, a slower yet seemingly more aggressive thrust which allows Sherlock's pelvis to rub against her clit.

The man below her gasps out in shock and his hands smack down onto the arms of the chair, gripping it violently as she continues to forcefully impale him deeper into her heated core.

"Almost- almost there just a few more-" Molly says as she grinds down onto him, and Sherlock groans loudly in protest, "Not to soon, god Molly not yet-" he's begging her to prolong her climb, but Molly isn't sure she can stop what's about to happen.

"No, please don't ask me to stop- don't, I'm almost- almost oh god-"

Sherlock's arms instantly come around her waist and his iron like hold stops her movement, "No! Oh please God no!" Molly whines, she keeps trying to move against him, but he isn't having any of it.

"To-Together, we cum together, always-" he warns and Molly feels a blistering stab of frustration and passion merge to create a raging ball of heat in her gut.

Turning her head she sinks her teeth mercilessly into his neck, sucking, licking and biting as livatiously as she can.

"Oh! You vile woman!" Sherlock barks as he jerks and thrusts into her against his will.

"Now! Cum now Sherlock!" The detective slides an arm down to cup her arse while his other braces her shoulders and in an instant he is up from his chair, Molly still trying to buck her hips and reach her end before Sherlock.

"This is one game I won't let you win Miss. Hooper." he grunts out as she manages to get another thrust down onto his length.

"But I was so close!"

Sherlock is walking down the hall with her still wrapped around him, her ankles hook behind his back, her arms pinched between his chest and hers.

"It won't take long-" he murmurs into her ear before he kisses her neck.

"But-"

"Hush, be patient." he nips at her cheek and she yanks her head back before staring at him in shock.

She hears a door slam and looks around to see that he has brought her into his room. Not allowing time for her eyes to do much deducting of her own he kneels onto the bed and positions them so Molly's head sinks into a pillow.

"Now, let's see about that orgasim shall we?"

Molly's eyes widen as Sherlock leans down to kiss her and then, when she is caught off guard, pulls out and shoves back in with a sharp hitch of his hips.

Molly's back arches off the bed, her head slamming back and her jaw dropping in utter bliss.

Instantly she realizes the power she has had the last half hour is suddenly gone and she is now at his mercy. Of which, he gives none.

Rutting into her over and over with such fierce dominance Molly can't do anything but cry out obscenities and blasphemous titles that would make her mother ashamed.

Sherlock his pressing her into the bed, his torso completely covering her tiny frame and leaving her no room to move or get the upper hand.

"You're- god your cheating!" she nearly cries as she realizes he is taking her to the brink without allowing her any say in when it might occure.

"You have no idea-" he murmurs into her hear, Molly spreads her legs wider for him in hopes of getting a few thrusts to connect with her clip but Sherlock seems to notice and gives an evil chuckle, "Don't think your clever, I've not finished yet so neither will you."

He takes up her wrists in one hand and pushes them over her head, his other hand loops around her hip and pulls it close removing any friction from her clit that might have been possible.

"Oh my god, your going to kill me!" she very nearly shreiks.

"Not yet, we still have thirty mintues to play-"

"Thirty- but, now- I am ready now!" she snaps as she looks up into his smirking face. And in those eyes she sees a mishevious and slightly dangerous shadow, "You've no idea what ready is- just wait."

And then suddenly, as Molly thinks she just might be able to pull off her release he stops stone cold.

Molly wails in devastation.

He waits nearly a full minute before he starts again. In and out, slow and steady. Over the course of ten minutes he build his speed, as he does he presses Molly's leg back out so the friction delivers a steady yet building pressure.

Molly knows when she tips over it will be like lava burning her skin. Her muscles are trying to do their job, her brain filling with the right chemicals to create the stimulus of pleasure that she so desperatly craves.

But once again, just as she is about to tip over he stops. Tears are in her eyes, her body is coated in sweat and she starts to fight him in earnest.

"I am going to tie you down and fuck the living shite out of you if you stop one more bloody time Sherlock Holmes."

He doesn't respond, mearly leans down and licks his tongue up her throat before capturing her mouth. She kisses him back, desperatly trying to will him to finish her off and stop this game that he has so obviously won.

"And what have we learned from this experience Miss Hooper?" he whispers into her ear.

Molly's mind blanks and at the realization that he is apparently trying to teach her some sadistic lesson she starts to fight again, rocking hips that are caught between his and the mattress, wrists trying to pull free him his large hand. Her knees catches his ribs before his hand smacks down onto the tender flesh in order to hold it still.

"Nghk- no. Apparently you didn't understand my point. Well, we will just have to start again then."

And he does, twice more he builds her up, twice more he stops just as she is about to fall over. Her entire body is shaking, sweat is pouring from every pore and her breathing is so irrational she feels faint.

Sherlock looks no better off, his own body slick, his breath beating against her ear and his body straining to keep her subdued.

"And the lesson is?" he asks.

Molly nearly wants to tell him to fuck off but instead, as she is half crazed and a quivering mess of build up sexual energy she swallows her pride and says through clenched teeth, "We. Cum. Together…. Always."

"That's my girl." and before she can tell him to rot in hell and burn with the best of the them, he rocks his body back and forth once before hoisting her up. His knees and toes digging mercilessly into the mattress as he wraps her in his arms and starts to rut against her with quick even jerks.

Molly's body responds with such a force she has to wrap her arms painfully tight around his neck and bite his shoulder to keep from losing all composure.

Finally she feels it, her entire muscle system tightens and a grunt escapes her as she topples over into an explosion of pleasure so potent she nearly thinks she's dropped acid. Through her tunnel vision she sees stars and bright white lights, the gush of her heart and Sherlock's own yell fill her ears.

The most prominent feeling being Sherlock's length pulsing and jerking in her womanhood, releasing his hot seed, filling her full as her own muscles constrict so tight it burns.

When it's over, both having reached their pinnacle and fallen from their glorious end neither make to move. He's holding her against him, his breathing having gone beyond pants to actual heaves. She is in no better condition and between gasps for air small little barks of sound escape between her swollen lips.

Her cheeks feel wet, most likely from her frustrated tears and then from just now, she'd not be surprised if she cried when he had finally let her go.

Their bodies shake, muscles having been used beyond normal capacity. And as he finally begins to let her slide away he lays her down before him on the bed. His length still rests, nestled inside her as he is reluctant to end the physical connection and lose the tight rings of muscle that wrap his manhood so snuggly.

He pulls out long enough to gently press her onto her side before he slides right back in.

"Oh, I'm sore." she moans but the pleasure leaking from her voice tells him all he needs to know for he doesn't stop himself from pulling her back to his chest, his hand taking her hip and burrowing his length back inside.

No longer hard, but still erect enough to allow him to savour the heated bliss that is Molly Hooper's most intimate area, he sighs into her hair and inhales her scent.

"I don't think I will ever fancy sharing you. In fact, I think, while we are caught up in this bad life choice, I would prefer you not see anyone else at all." he murmurs against her ear.

Molly hums and says softly, "I'd not see anyone else again if I had my way. You've ruined me for anyone else. Bloody show-off."

He chuckles softly and then says in a rather dark voice, "I mean it though. You'll not be with anyone else. At the moment, you're quite occupied with other things- only me Molly Hooper- promise me."

Molly turns toward him, his now flaccid length slipping from her wet folds with ease and he grunts a little at the sudden shift.

She is staring up into his eyes and they are filled with something that she has never seen before in her whole time knowing him, "You don't have anything to fear from me Sherlock. I was yours the moment we met, all the others have been just that- others."

He leans in and hovers over her lips before he murmurs softly, "Promise-" it's a demand and yet it's also a request.

She takes it serious and threads a hand through his hair, "I promise Sherlock, forever in a day, I will always be yours."

When she pulls him down to meet her lips he hums again and pulls her closer before nestling down next to her and pulling the blanket over them.

He lays awake long after Molly has left the land of the conscious, all he thinks about are her words to him, her promise. And as he kisses her cheek he whispers a rough promise of his own, "I'll love you Molly Hooper, forever in every day."

 **So, R &R to let me know if you want chapter three. Much love and I hope you enjoyed it. **


	3. Chapter 3

PART I I I

DANCES WITH SHADOWS

 **Happy 2017! I'm glad to see that they haven't killed off Molly yet. Hoping that doesn't come to fruition. Enjoy chapter 3 and of course, R.I.P Mary Watson. Hope baby Rosie is safe from the clutches of Mark Gautiss. Not edited, sorry, been a bit rushed. Please enjoy and R &R. **

It's Christmas eve and Molly Hooper has no idea why she is here. Well, that's not entirely true- she had been invited, _he_ had invited her. Wearing an old, but pretty, green dress and black leggings she is comfortable but feels slightly out of place. The soft wool of her cream cardigan keeping her warm on this chilly December evening.

A large table has been set up in the dining room, the small exterior of the bright red house never giving any signs that it was actually big enough to have such a space. It's decorated with the trappings of Christmas time, as is the interior of the rest of the home.

The entire house is so warm and cozy she has a hard time believing the two men that she is acquainted with could have truly been raised here. Their own personalities being so different then what she is currently seeing, their parents being the epitome of kind and welcoming.

Since her arrival she has admittedly taken an inconceivable amount of time to tour every inch of the house; up and down, studying every picture she can find with such determination so as to commit them to memory. The matron of the house accompanying her and talking with so much nostalgic revelry that Molly had found herself laughing and responding with much more confidence then was her normal inclination.

The pictures of Sherlock and Mycroft as young children enthralled her to such a point she braved to ask for a view into a family album or two; the elder woman's eyes lighting up and her warm soft hand threading through Molly's. Gently guiding her to a couch in the main sitting room, two albums in hand, they had settled down before a enchanting fireplace.

Three hours later, the woman's chattering, laughing and enjoyment of the trip down memory lane had Molly feeling a strange sort of bond starting to form with this jovial woman and she realized she would have to be careful.

She reminded herself that this isn't that type of visit. This is strictly for Christmas, Sherlock Holmes does not do relationships and he has most assuredly not invited her here to play house and to meet his parents as a potential spouse or girlfriend.

Despite the fact they have been having sex for two months. Despite the fact he can't keep his hands off her and every moment he isn't running on a case, spending time with the Watson's or working on his own personal experiments he is with her, near her and laying his shadow hands upon her pale flesh.ì

As her eyes had scanned to the fire she had recalled a twinge of doubt lacing her gut, hands clenching softly before she turned her attention back to Mrs. Holmes and nodded politely with her little half smile.

 _Not his girlfriend, not his spouse or fiance, not even his friend with benefits because we are most definitely more than friends- there is no label for what we are. I've no clue what I'm doing, I am so lost- I don't belong here, not in the capacity that his parents surely think. This is an unspoken lie, and Sherlock still hasn't clarified and I am so confused and he had warned me and I didn't listen- I should have listened. I can't ever get two words out of him- the instant we are alone we are wrapped up together naked and rutting like crazy animals. We never talk- it's the want, the 8 years worth of tension… it's like the honeymoon effect that should have worn off by now- Sherlock should be bored by now- this should be over- but it's still going on and getting more and more intense and for once- I don't know how to proceed- I don't understand- the situation is so- I can't read it. I don't LIKE not being able to read him. He keeps me so busy and off balance that I have no time to study him and figure out what he is thinking and feeling. That has always been my one strong card I have in my deck. My E.Q. outranks him by a million, I could ALWAYS tell what he is thinking, feeling or needing without him saying a word… he won't let me- he kisses me before I can get a good look at his eyes, they tell all if you know how to look, to really see. Why won't he let me see-_

Molly's brain stays in hyperactive overdrive for the next hour until dinner, realizing that she is playing some part, without even knowing what her part is.

Still, as she sits wedged between Sherlock and Greg; Mary, John and Mycroft across from her, the heads of the house at each end of the table, she can't hide a blush as Sherlock's father smiles kindly at her and gives a friendly, if not slightly cheeky wink.

She has been mostly silent, eating the delicious pre-Christmas meal that she and Mary had helped to prepare. It's a light dinner, rabbit stew (the rabbits having been caught earlier in the day by Sigur and his sons; John apparently falling into that category now as a honorary member of the family) which Mrs. Holmes had been very happy to find neither Molly nor Mary were squeamish and had jumped into gutting and skinning the little animals with dexterity and grace.

There are rolls and jam, a rather delicious salad and several dishes that Molly has never heard of but can't help taking multiple helpings of.

Greg talks to the elder Mr. Holmes, John and Mary speak to Violet while Mycroft and Sherlock are on their phones doing only God knows what.

Out of curiosity Molly leans over just enough to see Sherlock's screen and realizes it's a chess game he's on, the apparent opponent being his brother whose user name simply says Myke.

She glances up to see Sherlock looking at her sideways through bemused eyes. She blushes a little and goes to move away when Sherlock holds the phone closer and cocks a brow at her, he is inviting her to make a move.

Slightly stunned, she looks at the board on the screen and after a few seconds points a finger to show what move to make. She glances up to Mycroft who has a rather amused expression on his face, _you're not a threat my dear-_ she swears his eyes say though Sherlock seems more confident and does as she has suggested.

Mycroft's brow raises though he doesn't seem deterred and waits a few moments before he makes another move. Several more rounds go as such before Molly motions for her final move and seconds later a groan escapes Mycroft's lips as he slaps his phone down on the table and stares petulantly across at them.

Sherlock lens in and whispers in her ear, "Well done Miss. Hooper, I do believe you just saved me from three hours of song and dance at the local theatre. Remind me to repay my debt." his voice is suggestive, they both know it and she looks down, trying to hide a small smile and blush.

She glances up when she feels a pair of eyes on her and sees Mycroft staring at her with intense focus, she starts a little before she moves to take another helping of mash, if only for lack of knowing what else to do.

"My you've got a healthy appetite, and still so thin! Wish my boys ate as well as you do Molly. It'd do them good to get some meat on their bones, especially you Will."

Molly sits frozen mid bite, her eyes scanning the rest of the table to see she is the only one still eating. Her cheeks grow a bright red and she takes the final bite before setting her fork down and clearing her throat as she gently wipes her lips with a napkin.

"I do believe I am still trying to lose the weight I gained from your cooking last Christmas. I dare say you put butter in everything." Mycroft says with a roll of his eyes and a rather distasteful tone, Sherlock smirking across the table at his brother with such glee at the man's duress.

"I don't recall you complaining when we were younger Mycroft, in fact I remember you weighed twice what you weigh now. Why fight your natural inclinations and indulge a little? You do make such a convincing walrus-"

John chokes a little on his wine and he tries to hide a laugh, Mary nudges him admonishingly though the hidden smirk on her own lips isn't so hidden either. Mycroft's bemused eyes flick towards his younger brother before glancing to Molly, "I'd say you've no room to speak of indulgences Sherlock, considering your current position- or should I say multiple positions."

It's Molly's turn to choke on her wine and she loses her grip on the glass, the red liquid splashing down onto the table's beautiful linen. Molly jerks up from her seat and brings her hands to her mouth, "Oh God, I am so- so sorry! Stupid! I'm sorry, so very sorry! Stupid, dumb-"

Shaking hands instantly try to mop up the spill but in the process her hand loses her grip on the glass again and it drops onto the silver spoon in the bowl of mash, launching a glob directly into the side of Mycroft's head.

A stunned silence resonates and no one speaks or moves until, Violet Holmes, having stood at Molly's accidental spill, starts to squeak. All eyes dart to her and from behind a well placed hand another little blip of humor escapes. Mr. Holmes is the next to go, followed by John, Mary, Greg and Sherlock. Soon the laughter is slipping into something resembling a pack of hyenas, Molly having plopped down in her chair and put her face in her hands.

"That's something for the album, if I dare say so myself." Mr. Holmes says through a fit of laughter.

"You would say, wouldn't you father." Mycroft bites tartly as he tries to clean the sticky mash from the side of his face with a napkin.

"Oh come now Myke, it's all in good fun, Molly didn't mean to land such a devastating blow, did you dear?" Violet is cleaning up the mess in front of Molly and still giggling as she does, "No! God no, I didn't- I'd never- my apologies Mycroft-"

"The looks suits you Mycroft, goes with your tie, it's quite smashing really." Mary says, which sends Greg, Sherlock and John into another fit of laughter.

"Are you normally this clumsy Miss. Hooper, being one to regularly cut up cadavers I'd think you'd be a little more dexterous with your hands." the dry sarcasm in his voice causes Molly to twist her fingers anxiously as she realizes she has probably just pissed off the one man in the room that you never want to piss off.

"Don't waste your breath on him, he's just sore you beat him at chess and got one off on him." Sherlock offers as he sneakily takes up Molly's twisting hands under the table, trying to steal her anxiety away.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, really I didn't mean to-"

"Lay off Mycroft, it was an accident." Greg offers up as he puts a reassuring hand on Molly's shoulder, the woman in question noticing Sherlock's hold on her hands tightening at the D.I.'s sudden contact, however benign it may be.

"And you'd know all about accidents wouldn't you Lestrade, like how you accidentally fell on top of your subordinate last week, Miss. Donovan seemed to be quite enamored with your folly, in fact she took your apologies between her-"

"Mycroft!"

"Hey!" came John and Sherlock's yell in unison, the awkward silence that followed made everyone stop, eyes wide and Greg looked straight ahead a moment, biting his bottom lip after taking a swig of his wine, he was debating on a response, choosing his words carefully, "Mycroft Sampson Reginald Holmes, you apologize now! Bringing up such intimate and personal information at our table, on Christmas Eve no doubt! Really, I raised you better than that!"

"Funny, I hardly recall you raising me at all, or Sherlock for that matter." he says as he gives a narrow eyed smirk to his mother.

At the clipped reply from his brother Sherlock shoots up from the table and slams his hands down before him, the China jerks violently, "That's three of seven brother dear, why don't you just ignore the last four and join me outside?"

Mycroft eyes his brothers tense form before he gives a knowing smirk, "I'd rather not. Dealing with one of _your_ temper tantrums is the last thing I'd rather be doing at the moment."

"I insist, lest I have to _escort_ you out myself-"

Mycroft weighs the odds and decides in that moment it is better to aqueous then to fight, "Very well, if you will excuse us." as the elder brother stands and rounds the table he pauses by his mother's side and sighs, "I do apologise mummy, you know how quick my mouth can be. Try not to take my ill temper to heart." he kisses her daintily on the cheek before striding from the room, Sherlock hot on his heels.

"John!" Sherlock bellows and the short blonde man is in the process of wiping his lips and scooting out his chair, "The prince of darkness calls-"

"What does he need you for?" Mary asks, a smile on her lips.

"I don't know, maybe to restrain him from punting his brother off the pad. Back in a tick."

The remaining group seems to settle a little and Molly tries again, "I really am sorry, I can help get that out, I'm quite good at getting blood and gore out of clothes- no! God no, I just mean I work in a morgue so I've become quite good at-"

"Please dear, think not a thing of it. First off, my son Myke has always been a bit of a cock. You handled yourself well considering what he implied, same goes for you dear." Violet says giving a nod to Greg who nodes back but still looks like he regrets not responding.

"As for the linen, we've been looking for an excuse to go into the city. Haven't we dear?" she looks to her husband and gives a pointed stare which, pulling him from his thoughts, warrants a response, "What? Oh yes! No worries dear. That actually went quite well all things considered. If you had been here when they were young you'd understand."

"Barely made it through any visit from uni due to their temperamental nature. Always fighting and saying such horrible things." she sighs heavily at this and then goes about picking up the table, "Ah well, boys will be boys. Don't know where my William would be without such good friends. He was a right mess when he was younger, despite Mycroft's best attempts to pull him back… those two have always been at each other's throats, ever since Sherri left us."

Mary and Molly have begun helping Violet clean up, Sigur wandering off with Greg to share a cigar or some such thing.

"Sherri?" Molly and Mary ask at the same time as the three enter the kitchen, arms laid full with the leftovers.

"Oh! I suppose you two wouldn't know. Sherrinford was their elder brother. Of the three he was the only one to be- well I hate to use the term as it's so superficial but- normal. Don't get me wrong, he was smart, smarter than both Will and Myke put together. But he had the ability to- no, he had the _desire_ to socialize. Was a real charmer, so warm and happy and always smiling and swinging the ladies off their feet. The boys admired him so, loved him to no end too. Fought for his attention like cats and dogs, though I always suppose he showed preference for Will, showed more of an aptitude for science and music. Mycroft was much more down to earth, irked him to no end that Sherri seemed to prefer Will."

The two younger women looked to each other in surprise, "If you don't mind me asking- what ever happened to their brother?" Mary asks. Molly is at the sink, listening intently to the story, though her eyes catch sight of the three men outside and she is shocked into silence. Through the glass she can hear Sherlock's raised voice but she can't understand what he is saying. John is off to the side, arms crossed and head shaking, the look of utter shock on his face sending shots of anxiety down into her gut. Sherlock looks angry, very angry, his arms swinging wide and he is gesticulating wildly as Mycroft stands still as a stone, his face somber, almost resolute.

"Breaks my old heart to say it but I'm not sure. He disappeared one day out of the blue, just left a note. He promised to come back someday, but I always knew it was something else. When he left the boys didn't take it well, their bickering got worse- by then Myke was already working and Will had started the drug abuse.. It's a shame, my boys were such sweet little things- such mouths on them that you wouldn't believe- but they have such a capacity to love. I just wish they'd let it happen."

Mary looks to Molly who is still watching out the window, she is no longer listening to the conversation and is now only focusing on the drama going on outside. The anger on Sherlock's face makes her chest hurt and she lets out a breath as John comes to stand between the two and keep them from throwing fists.

Mary, crossing to her friend, looks out, seems to study Sherlock for a moment, her eyes scanning something but Molly can't tell what, "I wish I knew what was going on out there." Molly murmurs.

Violet has approached now and stands behind the two younger girls watching as well.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Will was telling his brother off, he so hates when Myke upsets me."

Mary's brow furrows and Molly suddenly has the suspicion that Mary knows what's going on, "You're reading his lips?" Molly asks and Mary looks at her in shock, "I've seen people do that. My friend Tilly is deaf, when she reads my lips she looks like you do now- what are they saying?"

Mary swallows and then looks back to the group outside, "Sherlock is telling Mycroft to stop straying into his personal affairs. That it's none of his business who he- oh my, um- sees. That he should leave well enough alone and that he is a-" Mary glances to Violet before substituting in, "Nosey jerk."

Molly blushes profusely, she suddenly feels sick and she turns just as Mary goes to continue, "No, that's okay. I don't need to- I am going to go check in on the other ones." and then she is gone leaving Mary and Violet to stare after her.

Molly feels tears in her eyes, she beelines for the bathroom as her vicious mind fills in the blanks, " _It's none of your business who I fuck."_

The vulgar word makes her feel filthy, and not in the good way. While the term _'make love'_ was archaic and unsettling in its over fancified whimsy, the f-word was so cold and unattached, so demeaning and cruel. Molly knows Sherlock isn't having sex with her because he wants something serious, but he had said he loved her, would love her no matter what. The very idea that he would be speaking of her, about her in such a way- even if it's defending his choice to be with her- from the singular sentence Mary relayed to them she suddenly realizes that she definitely shouldn't have come. The insecurities which have built up over the long day come crashing down around her and though she shouldn't let it get to her, knows it's such a small thing- it's also confirmation to Molly that while Sherlock may say he loves her, he may not truly understand what that means- he could be parroting her. In those short seconds of self-introspection Molly successfully derails all the trust she has built with Sherlock and walks into the bathroom before closing and locking the door.

 **OUTSIDE THE HOLMES FAMILY HOME, THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER**

Sherlock stalks out of the house, a strolling Mycroft and befuddled John following behind. Sherlock is murmuring things and running his hands through his hair in utter agitation.

"Filthy, unbelievable- dick headed, pig-"

When he reaches the edge of the patio he swings around quickly before he pulls a smoke from his coat and lights it.

"Seriously? I just took your last pack three hours ago, you haven't even left- how do you have-"

"It's a big coat." Sherlock offers without much else, his sharp eyes scanning over to his brother.

"What is this all about brother mine, it's late and I do have things to be getting on with." Mycroft is bundled in his expensive coat, umbrella resting on his shoulder despite the lack of need.

"Your behavior in there was deplorable, even for you. I'll see to it you are set straight before we return lest you cause more havoc during an already frustratingly dull night."

Mycroft gives a smile and looks at his brother down his nose, "My my John, look how the tables have turned. Little Sherlock putting me in my place and cajoling me about _my_ behavior. It's near frightful, especially when one considers he is usually the one to upset our mother."

Sherlock's face twists, "the tables have turned indeed, it's rare if not unheard of for you to play dumb Mycroft, you know damn well this isn't about mummy, though I do wish you hadn't been so terse with her."

"Rare indeed brother mine."

"Wait- if this isn't about your mum then who is it about?" John asks looking between the two brothers and trying to figure out what this is all about. The two men are looking at each other with clever crafty eyes, sizing up their own prospective chances of getting in the last word.

Mycroft's smile turns from a simple smirk to near leering as he gazes at his brother with distaste, "Isn't it obvious?"

The silence stretches a moment, Sherlock taking another drag and John looking to his friend for any indications before he sighs in frustration "You are both going to make me- oh for the love of god, no its bloody not! Now what is going on!"

The sigh that escapes Mycroft is thick, he is already tired of this conversation and it hasn't even started, "Sherlock is referring to the rather lurid comment I made to his little mouse."

John seems to think a moment before he looks at Mycroft in disbelief, "What, Molly?"

"Very good. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he would have you believing something else all together."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and puffs out another bellow of smoke, "You've been an utter arse all night. And it doesn't just have to do with being forced to come out here. You're rather _ticked,_ and don't think I don't know why."

"Oh I'm sure you know very well why, I'm just curious if you are willing to spill the proverbial beans with present company. I do so know how you like your privacy." Mycroft inclines his head towards John and his eyes dart to the man in question, his brow cooking up and a smarmy smile plastering his lips.

Sherlock cocks his head to the side slowly, breathing out smoke and flicking his cigarette to land at his brothers shoes. The elder Holmes doesn't move but he looks at the dirty butt with distaste, "You dare talk to me about privacy? After what you did, watching us while we- don't think for a moment I would hesitate to tell John anything. You may prefer me to be isolated, even alone-"

"Alone protects you-"

"No Mycroft, friends protect you. I'm not playing by your rules anymore. It worked when we were kids, kept us safe and out of harm's way- but we can't do that anymore. At least, I can't."

"You're a fool, people will not-"

"I don't need _people_ I just need my friends and I would greatly appreciate it if you would tend to your own affairs and keep your nose out of mine."

"You are my affair Sherlock. As long as you need me I will always be there to watch out for you."

"Touching _sentiment_ that, but I don't need you anymore Mycroft. I can take care of myself, and what I can't do- my friends can do the rest."

"So much faith in those around you, but can you really trust them to have your best interests at heart. They are the goldfish after all, we are-"

"Different. We are different, but no better. We are just as petty and guilty and- ruined as the rest of them. There isn't a pedestal, Mycroft, so I suggest your get off your high horse and join the rest of us mere mortals below. Or you will be up there alone."

"Alone protects-"

"Will you shut up! Just shut up! Alone is bad for us! Alone is-"

"That young little thing has charmed your heart, broken your disciplines. She has twisted your mind brother and I can't warn you enough that you should disengage now, before it's too late."

Sherlock is about to speak but John cuts in, "Whoa, boys, han- hang in bloody hell are two going on about?" John's put his hands out before him, all his gestures showing his confusion and need for clarification, Mycroft reluctantly takes the time to explain, "Isn't it obvious, my brother, the once great Sherlock Holmes has developed an unhealthy attachment to his little morgue mouse."

John looks in shock to his friend whose face has gone pale and his teeth are gritting together. He can't seem to meet John's eyes and his shoulders are hunched in what John can only describe as utter humiliation. To top it all off John swears he can see a faint trace of pink erupting across the man's cheeks, something he has never seen before and he isn't sure how he feels about it all. The very idea of Sherlock Holmes being embarrassed about _anything_ is an uncomfortable idea, especially if it's having to do with a woman.

"Wait- you and Molly Hooper- you like Molly Hooper?" he needs to make absolutely sure he understands, it will help him decide how to proceed from here and how to help Sherlock if he needs it.

Mycroft chooses this moment to finish the metaphorical kill and even add insult to injury, "No Dr. Watson, Sherlock is in love with Miss. Hooper-"

"Mycroft-" Sherlock warns in earnest, his face is more red now, hands fisted and John swears he can feel the man's desire to melt into the floor.

"So much so as to commit to a short lived dalliance of the flesh, as he has so aptly put it-"

"Myke!" Sherlock barks in rage, he takes a step towards his brother and John steps in between, keeping his eyes on both though honestly he is more concerned with Sherlock.

"In fact, he has completely given into his baser instincts, descended from his enlightened perch and indulged in the chemical defect, just one more addiction he now needs to overcome."

"Wait, so, Sherlock- you, you love Molly Hooper?"

"He even had the gall to ask our father for the Holmes family ring- asked my opinion, which I gave him. You should have known better than that brother." Mycroft shakes his head at his brother as if he is a naughty child and John hears a faint growl emanate from his friends throat.

"I swear to god!" Sherlock yells as he takes a step towards his brother, but John continues to intervene, "Hold it- shut up Mycroft for two seconds, stop goading him. Now, Sherlock- is this the real thing or is this just another extremely not good thing you are doing for a case…"

Sherlock stares at him but doesn't say a word, his cheeks growing so red he resembles a berry, his eyes looking downcast at the ground, his teeth clench and his eyes screwing shut, "Look at him, so ashamed of his actions that he can't even speak. So humiliated to be brought to this precipice of want, to tumble down into the pit of love and misery. If you're going this route anyway at least you could try for some dignity brother."

"I brought you out here for one reason only Mycroft. Stop straying into my personal affairs. It's none of your business who I _love_ , you're a peeping Tom and an utter bastard. Keep your nose and your _eyes_ out of my private life. Or so help me I'll send you down the river, and you won't be coming back."

"I always expected better from you than this- such a disappointment. I told you years ago when I first offered to help you get your chaotic mind in order that there would have to be sacrifices. For your own good, do not proceed down this road."

"You can't control me anymore." Sherlock says shaking his head and pinning his brother with a defiant stare, he tries again to move past John but the good doctor remains rooted, keeping Sherlock from doing anything rash.

"I suppose not. But you'd be better off asking if you can control yourself. All lives end, all hearts are broken-"

"And all noses bleed if you hit them hard enough." Sherlock bites.

"You're building yourself up to fail. And I can't watch you spiral out of control again. Do you remember Redbeard, Victor- what about Sherri. Each one you loved, each one is now dead and every time you lost them you went down in flames. Drugs, booze and breakdowns so horrible I can't even begin to imagine what would happen this round-"

"Enough!" Sherlock bellows, he lurches forward but John wrangles him back. The smaller man letting out pants of air as he tries to murmur words of calm to his friend.

"I warn you brother, this time I can't guarantee I will be there to pick you up when you inevitably lose her. You've already unhinged your heart, the mind is sure to follow if she can't survive you."

Sherlock remains silent, his eyes falling to the ground and his hands clenching in anger before suddenly he deflates and defeated eyes look to his brother with a glare of utter anguish.

"So, what- the whole world gets to have someone and I don't? I've done nothing but be honest with her, with myself. Ive- for once I've done nothing wrong! I've done it all right in fact, she told me herself- told me I was doing everything correctly." he sounds confused and desperate now, like he is asking a question even if it is a statement.

"I'm sure she has. She's been after you eight years. I suppose any man could fall to that much persistence but- you- Sherlock you know better, you've suffered more than most. Why would you willingly submit yourself for such agony? Better to stop now brother, to protect her and yourself."

"But- I want, I actually want to try-" Sherlock starts but a single pointed look from his brother seems to shut him down.

"And who will be here for you when it inevitably fails. You bring a plague of death wherever you go. We've been through this before, you simply can't, you're not wired correctly and it won't work. Who has the strength to pull you back from the edge when this blows up in your face?"

John looks to his best friend, the man who has done so much for him and seeing in his blue eyes a hatred and disappointment that he has never seen before. He looks defeated, lost and confused which is a hard thing to accomplish with Sherlock and John realizes he doesn't need another cue, he puts his hand on Sherlock's shoulder before he steps in front and squares off with Mycroft, "Don't worry, I will be."

Mycroft gives a look as if he expected such a remark from the ex-soldier, he gives a cruel smirk before saying softly, "Ever the martyr-"

"No. I'm his friend. If Sherlock wants to try- if he is even remotely capable of being in love- if he can then he needs to be and you need to let him. Its- it's a wonderful thing that. It could save him, make him even better."

"Balance of probability Dr. watson. There is no guarantee that Miss. Hooper will be any different than the rest."

"If she isn't I will be there to keep him grounded. I will be there." he says the last part as he looks to Sherlock, his face resolute and eyes strong, "And there is nothing to be ashamed of, yeah?"

Sherlock gives a very small smile before he breaths out and sets his shoulders high, "There you have it. I've got my anchor, so you are no longer needed brother mine. I would appreciate it if you would behave the rest of the evening in regards to Molly, in turn, I will do my best not to insight mother's wrath against you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a young lady waiting inside for my company."

As the detective walks inside, his hands in his coat pockets and his stride purposeful Mycroft's brow creases and he sighs before he looks to the doctor and slowly approaches, he leans down so as to catch John's eye and says with an acidic voice, "I hope, for my brothers sake, you can be all you say you can. It would not do to have him regress. My heart can't take it anymore, you need to make sure yours can. I have no doubt Miss. Hooper will be just another casualty- he will lose her and like every other time he won't understand. Then you will finally see the true nature of my brother's heart. You may find, it's the one side of Sherlock you just can't handle."

"I've said it to you before Mycroft, your brother is my best friend so I will do everything I can to accommodate him if he genuinely wants to try to love someone. I can't-" John hesitates before he decides to go for it, "Yeah, I'm just going to say it- how you could ever want to keep him from exploring his humanity is beyond me. He's already proven to be a better man than you and he claims to be a sociopath. You're his brother Myke!"

"I am his guardian, his caregiver, his financial adviser, his mother and father, his employer, mentor, friend and brother. I was and still am the only constant in his life. Even you, John, will eventually have to move on for one reason or another and when you do you will come to find the mess you leave behind will be far worse than just some druggy washout."

John's hands ball into fists and he leans closer then he is comfortable with to this snake of a man before he whispers with all the heat he has left, "If you muck this up for him, I will personally shoot you in the face with my browning, jail time aside, I think I would be doing Sherlock a favor and with said detective on my side they'd never know how I did it or find your body. I'd take that threat seriously and realize that I never miss." John feels his head cock to the side a little as he turns to storm off, leaving Mycroft outside in the darkness.

 **Inside the Holmes family Home, present time**

Molly sits on the toilet and is trying to be as quiet as she can, tears are bubbling down her cheeks and her nose is running as she cries to herself about this situation she is in. The situation she has willingly put herself in.

Her head jerks to the side as images of his hands ghosting across her skin send goosebumps down her flesh.

"Stop it-" she hisses through clenched teeth as the feeling of utter anguish mixes with hotty arousal and she realizes she has never felt so out of control in her life.

"Molly?" comes a soft low voice.

The pathologist jumps a little as she is drawn from her self-pity by the soft voice of Mary. Molly instantly stands and realizes she needs to get out of this house. Crossing to the sink quickly she cleans her face with the cold water and then blows her nose before straightening her hair.

When she opens the door she sees Mary standing there looking guilty, "Oh, I am so sorry Molly. I didn't mean to-"

"No, I asked you to. It's my fault. I wanted to know what he was saying and I got a smack in the face for it. At least you know now so I don't have to feel like a teenager trying to hide it from her parents."

"Oh, I've known awhile." Mary offers as she raises a hand to move a strand of Molly's hair behind her ear.

"I think I should just go, since I have arrived everything has become chaotic and a mess. I'm good at that, messing things up. I just- I need to go before Sherlock comes back and I have to face his beautifully deceptive eyes."

"Wait- Molly what are you talking-" the blonde starts but Molly has already shuffled past her and is heading towards the front hall.

Mary is trying to get the petite woman to slow down, to speak to her but Molly is on a roll of insecure doubts and humiliation at her lack of restraint.

"I should have stopped this- shouldn't have tempted him- I've ruined it and I didn't care at the time but now I do because I've been nothing but a _fuck_ this whole time and I knew it but I let it happen because I wanted it to and now I am so much more in love with him and he is- my God I have to go!"

She is out the door and into the night before the blonde can grab her and clear the woman of her mistaken understanding. Mary hadn't felt comfortable revealing such personal things about Sherlock to Molly and Violet, but now that she realizes Molly has taken the insanely small bit out of context she knows she has to try and set it right. She instantly goes to grab the prince of darkness himself, for at this point only he can undo the damage she has accidentally caused.

Molly is standing next to her car, fishing through her purse for her keys while also trying to get her hair to stop sticking to her wet face.

"Stupid, what are you doing- please just stop crying you're being stupid, so stupid. You knew what this was, you KNEW yet you did it anyway you stupid-"

Ahem-" Molly jumps, her purse and keys flopping to the ground as she spins in surprise, "Sherlock!" she squeaks as she sags against her car, instantly using her hands to wipe her face and try and fix her hair.

"I do believe Miss. Hooper, it is considered quite rude to leave a party early. I should know, I've done it loads of times. I'd be rather offended if you left just now, considering we haven't even opened gifts yet."

Molly feels a frustrated rage build up in her belly and she lets out a huge heave of breath as she stands up straight and raises her head with a cold dignity, "Sherlock, you don't have to play coy anymore alright? Three fourths of the people in that house know what is really going on, it isn't a secret anymore and I honestly can't play like I don't know they know. We are fucking-" Sherlock's face screws up at the blunt and rather indecent use of the word, his arms crossing over his chest.

"They all know it now. And you further convinced your brother of the dubious nature of our relationship when you told him you could _fuck_ whomever you want. I know we aren't aiming for something serious but I thought you might have more respect for me than that and I just realized that this isn't going to- we can't just keep- you're all I can think about, you and what all this might mean. Then we get together and all my questions get pushed to the back because when you touch me I lose all sense of control or caring and now here you are- sharing your family, your secrets- and I'm grateful and feel privileged but I am still just your friend, the pathologist at Bart's and I so selfishly want more-"

He's staring at her intently, a rather impressive feet to hold his attention so long when she is speaking.

"I knew what this was before we started but I don't know what it is now and I so desperately need something from you other than-"

Sherlock's phone goes off and he reluctantly pulls it out, sending an apologetic glance her way before his blues eyes scan over the message and his fingers grip tight around the device.

Molly's words have caught in her throat, for this is exactly what she was just talking about. Her thoughts and feelings always put into the background. If they were a legitimate couple, she could handle his dismissive nature so much better, for she knows him well enough to know- the work always comes first. That would never bother her, if she _knew_ he was hers but even thinking that makes her feel guilty. She is doing the one thing he has always avoided, the one thing that he surely assumes all women do, she is looking for commitment and security. Both of which are things Sherlock Holmes has verbally admitted to detesting.

The man before her texts a swift reply before he pockets his mobile and looks to her with a smirk, "Why, Miss. Hooper, I do believe your insecurities are showing." he makes to move towards her but she holds up a hand and he stops as he cocks his head curiously to the side.

"They are Sherlock, and I am sorry for that. I know when this started you warned you me of the consequences...that you didn't care if either of our hearts were broken- but I suddenly realized tonight…. I think I do. I need more from you but find I can't bring myself to ask and-"

She stops when he starts to approach her again, her hand coming to rest on his chest, her effort to stop his advance going to waste as he takes her face up in her hands, "Sherlock-" she whispers out desperately.

"Hush-" he leans down and gives a gentle kiss to the crown of her head before moving to her lips, "Silence your thoughts for me. Can you do that?" he asks softly as he looks into her eyes and Molly once again finds herself falling prey to those cold blue eyes, a warmth leaking from them that resemble so profoundly the elderly Mr. Holmes that a pool of hope starts to simmer in her belly. She nods her heads gently, "Good, now, take all of these racing thoughts, the ones that make you doubt and fill you with anxiety and fear-"

Leaning closer he places his lips next to her ear, "Do you have them all? Make sure to get every single negative emotion pertaining to us. Leave any others that may have to do with work or other parts of your life where they are. Then bag them all up in a sack." Molly does what Sherlock has requested, though it's hard for her to focus on her emotions as they seem to be trying to run from her and hide in the darker corners of her mind.

"Close your eyes and picture a door. Focus on the details of it- the color, what wood it's made out of, if the knob is old or newer, if there are any carvings- but make sure it resembles those feelings which are plaguing you and distracting you from the calm focus you want to find. Do you see it?"

"Yes- it's red-"

"I don't need to know, it's your door. Only meant for you to open and access when you need to. It's your private door. Understand?"

Molly nods and she sees the door so clearly she swears if she reaches out a hand she could feel the texture of it under her fingers.

"Now, approach the door. Reach out- take the handle and open it. You don't need to visualize a room, not yet anyway. For now, take that bag of negativity, all the insecurities and fears and doubt and through it into the room. Hold your ground and ready yourself."

Molly visualizes herself doing what he has instructed, the black empty cavity on the other side of the door echoing with words and feelings that make her unsettled and unable to contain herself.

"Good, take the handle and close the door. You may need to press hard. Make sure the lock clicks and add as many bolts, chains and locks as you think you might need. Fight it closed if you have to but get it done."

And Molly does, she struggles incredibly with the door, using all her strength as she tries to press closed what suddenly feels like a great burden of pressures.

A hand comes to her back and she feels an invisible aid come to her side, she takes comfort in the large hand that resonates warmth into her back and feels relief as the door finally clicks closed and latches. She imagines several large deadbolts run along the edge and she forces them all closed before running a chain through and clicking a large lock into place.

She is leaning against the door panting as she notices she suddenly feels a million times lighter.

"Very good, very very good. Make a mental note however you wish, a sign or note pad, a can of spray paint on the wall- to come back and deal with this door later. You aren't forgetting about them- just putting it on hold, understand?"

Molly nods though she isn't sure if she does in real life or just in her head and from nowhere she holds her medical clipboard in her hands and makes a short handed note to come back and deal with this door later.

"Now, take a breath and slowly open your eyes."

When she does all of her issues she was just having are gone and she feels a strange calm unlike anything she has ever felt before. There is no longer any doubt, fear or anxiety. She looks at him and her thoughts on the matter are clear, she loves this man and she wants to continue this thing they are doing, whatever it is. The uncertainty is completely gone and what she thought she cared about she realizes she doesn't , she simply couldn't sort her thoughts on the matter properly.

"W-what just happened- oh my head hurts." she brings a hand to her forehead and Sherlock chuckles a little, "Congratulations Molly Hooper, you've just built the very first door in your mind palace."

She stares at him in shock, her mouth slowly parting as her brow twists down and she can't quite believe she understands what he is saying.

"Do you mean- that is how you-"

"Mmhmm." he says nodding, "Now, I've shared a little secret with you- tell me, after our little exercise, how do you feel about me and our current predicament? I assume you can process it more clearly."

Molly nodes quickly and wraps her arms around his neck, "I love you, and I never want this to end and I don't care if you consider this just a fling- for now you are mine and I want to enjoy it." she rambles off automatically. She knows exactly what she wants and the clarity is startlingly blunt.

"Excellent, I had a feeling you just needed to reorder your-"

"How do you do this all the time? My god, no wonder you're so- no wonder. You're brilliant, just brilliant." she murmurs as she nestles her face into his neck. She gives a gentle kiss and then a slow and tantalizing lick before nipping at his ear.

"Mmmm," it's a hum that escapes and he sounds like he is fighting for his own form of control, "Molly- yes, we need to go inside for-"

She bites him softly, lovingly and sucks on the tender flesh of his throat just enough to get a taste, "Ah! Alright, pause. Just- we need to- good God you little- viiiixen." he groans out before he moves to catch her lips and they tangle tongues hungrily before he pulls away, mimicking his motions from earlier and leaving a light kiss on her forehead, "Come, mummy is climbing the walls to open some gifts. No doubt she just wants to see what father has gotten her."

Molly gives a soft laugh before she allows him to guide her back towards the house.

Twenty minutes later everyone is sitting in the living room, a fire in the harth and a tree off to the had had to leave on an urgent call from his ex-wife about their son. He had received hugs and wishes of well, Sherlock and John offering to drive him into town to catch the train. Mycroft had interjected telling the man to simply take his town car, his driver would get him to where ever he needed to be and remain until the morning.

Everyone had been surprised by the action until Mycroft had simply said that it was his way of apology for his earlier outspoken and unnecessary barb at the man.

After assuring the girls he would call once he knew what was going on he was out the door. The gifts are piled high and everyone takes a seat, Molly making note of Mycroft's eyes on her. For once, the anxiety that normally beats in her chest at his lingering eyes doesn't erupt in her gut and she finds herself giving him a cheeky wink and soft smile.

The man looks back at her in surprise before he gives a reluctant nod of his head in her direction and then looks to his brother who is smiling smugly.

They are in a semi-circle around the tree and Violet is moving about with a tray covered in tea and biscuits.

"John, how bout you pass them round. One gift each tonight and then we will open the rest in the morning."

"Yeah, alright." the blonde man extracts himself from next to his wife and makes to start grabbing gifts.

"For God's sake this is tedious. Why not simply open them all now. It would save us all time and I could be on my way tonight-"

"Oh! Pish-posh you great lump. One night won't kill you and it's granted you aren't missed. Isn't your office on break right now for the holiday?" Violet chastises, "Besides, we rarely get to see you boys- I deserve to have you here for Christmas, so drop the argument."

Mycroft sighs and takes the gift that John hands him, a smirk hidden on the younger man's face as he turns to Mr. Holmes and hands him an envelope, "From Molly." he offers.

"Thank you dear boy." he offers as he nods his head and gives a wink to Molly. She smiles back as she waits for her turn.

When all gifts are passed out, Molly having one from Mary and Sherlock from John, they take turns opening them. Molly receives a pair of rather rough looking mittens and Mary blushes, "Sorry, been practicing- maybe you could use them as a cozy?"

"No! They are lovely, thank you for the thought." Molly says with a genuine smile on her face. "I think you're improving, look- no holes this time!"

"Took her a bit on that part." John teases before Mary hits his shoulder.

Mycroft receives a new umbrella from his brother, John gets a traditional and rather antique looking doctors bag from Mr. Holmes who explains that it was his grandfather's. John's shock on the matter and reluctance to accept such gift is quelled by Sigor 's calm hand and gentle smile, "It's been sitting on display in my study for years. Better off to put it to use considering how often you help to patch up young Will. My grandad would be thrilled to see it being used by a doctor as it was intended and not as a paper weight."

Violet was very happy to see her sons had gotten her a year's pass to all her favorite theatres and the new seasons shows, though both seem like they had regret it the instant she sees it.

Mary receives a small pendant from Violet that holds a carved image of the virgin Mary and baby jesus, "Make no mistake, I'm not the religious type mind you, it was my mother's and she always claimed it brought her luck and protected her children from harm. All things considered I thought you could-"

"Yes. Of course, thank you!" Mary stammers out while looking at the beautifully carved metal with a smile. She tries to hide a singular tear that threatens to fall. John wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer with a small smile, "Okay?"

"Yes. Oh yes. Thank you Violet."

From John, Sherlock receives an old tobacco pipe made of a hard, but beautiful wood, the neck of it is long and slender and curves down to the small bowl which has upon it's sides small but intricate carvings.

"Don't fancy him quitting now." Mary scolds, "Yes, quite counterproductive." Molly says with a small smile.

"Apparently it's the season for old gift giving, it was my dad's- bit of a tosser but- well- you always find a way to smoke anyway and that might need a bit of cleaning… might not even smoke but-"

"Thank you John." Sherlock replies so the man doesn't have to stumble through his own inability to handle sentiment. He gazes upon the ancient pipe and smirks as he notices it is much older than John says, a fancy 'W' carved into the bottom of the bowl. The gold inlay mostly gone and an even smaller carving that reads, '1802' right below. It's a family hand-me-down and even Sherlock can read between the lines, 'you are my family' is written invisibly across the gift and in John's rather reluctant eyes.

It's finally Sigor 's turn and he opens a thin cream colored envelope that was labeled to him from Molly.

He opens it and pulls out a piece of ashen parchment, his eyes scan over it before a rather charming smile slides across his face, "You play?" he asks with intrigue, "Yes. Just about anything you can think of, since I was little." the blush that rises from her cheeks is noticed by all and John cocks a brow, "What is it?"

Sigor looks happily to his wife, "Molly has offered to play me any song I like on the piano whenever I would like to hear it. Even offers for her to come out and play for us in her free time."

"Oh, lovely dear! We do so love music! What will you play?" Violet chirps as she claps her hands together.

"It's up to Mr. Holmes. I spied the piano earlier, I thought this would be a good last minute gift. Sherlock has told me you enjoy musical theatre- perhaps something from Les Mis-"

"Oh no! No no, that's too much, it's time I take my leave-" Mycroft starts as he stands.

"Sit! You've no car anyway." Violet nearly barks and the man sits with a heavy swallow as his hands fist as his new umbrella.

"How about something for Christmas? What do you think dear?" Sigor asks looking to his wife.

"Oh yes! But which one, so many to choose from-"

"How about you play your favorite Christmas song for me, hum?"

Molly smiles and glances around the room, "My favorite really wouldn't- I mean it's rather- I'm not sure the current crowd would care to hear my-"

"Nonsense, religious babble, too jovial- we don't care a tick." Violet says as she motions for Molly to go to the piano.

The girl looks to the room and everyone, save Mycroft, looks at her with open faces of curiosity. "Al-alright. I will play the short version then."

She stands and moves away from Sherlock, the feeling of loss of heat hits her side and she swallows. Only five feet from him and she misses him already, she will definitely need to use that little trick he showed her to keep herself under control.

She sits at the piano softly and runs through a scale quickly to get the sloppy energy out of her fingers and wake them up.

"Alright, here we go."

As she plays through the intro she feels herself fade a little into the resonating chords of the instrument. The vibrations running through her body and filling her with intense feelings of calm and happiness. In her mind she is at her eighth music recital, parents watching her adoringly as she blows the other students out of the water. She played this song, sang the words too to really make sure she landed the win.

She sees her little mouth opening in her mind's eye and relives- for a moment anyway- seeing the joy and pride in her father's eyes. Seeing his warm smile, rosy cheeks and bright red beard. This is his favorite song, she chose it for him and wants to get it perfect.

" _Fall on your knees, oh hear the angels voices, oh night Devine, oh night, when Christ was born._ "

She sees the tears in his eyes, hears him cry above the rest when she finishes and stands from her chair, the thundering applause and she knows she has won, she is the best.

Molly smiles as she opens her eyes, a lone tear sliding free and traveling down a path on her cheek. She notices first Mary's open mouth, then sees John's eyes bugging a little with a huge smile ripping open and then Sigor and Violet are standing and clapping as every joins in.

Molly stands and takes a bashful bow next to the piano, hands folded before her and leg gently sliding behind the other- just the way her piano teacher had showed her how to do.

 _Always remember modesty and to remain humble._

"I didn't know you could sing-" Mary starts and Molly, who is on her way back to her seat trips a little before she looks to Mary in confusion and sits down.

"I sang?" she asks softly, "The whole bloody thing." Mycroft murmurs but also continues his light clap.

When everyone settles down questions follow, such as, how long have you played really, did you ever compete and why did you never tell me.

Sigor thanked her dearly for the performance and swore to have her back soon to sing a lovely piece from _Annie Get Your Gun_.

But while Molly was answering questions about her piano skills half-hearted in tone, the rest of her mind was locked onto how she could have possibly sung the entire song and not realized she was doing it.

It wasn't until she felt Sherlock's hand on her back that she looked to him in confusion, he whispered to her gently while the others were talking amongst themselves, "You've nothing to fear, it's a side effect I'm afraid. I can go a whole day talking without realizing that no one is in the room, or leave a room all together without ever remembering I did it. It's an interesting little side feature that happens on occasion if you aren't careful with your mind palace. Though why it happened to you so suddenly after only one small visit surprises me. I am impressed though I will make a note and look into it for you after the festivities have ended and we have returned to our normal, far less dull, lives."

Molly nods though she doesn't feel any better about it. She is not the type to be shy about playing the piano, in fact she has enough confidence to do it in front of an opera house if need be. But the singing? That had taken her weeks to get up the nerve to do for the recital. How she had gotten so caught up in her mind and memories and not realized she as singing to these people she couldn't fathom. Though Sherlock's offer to look into it makes her feel slightly less unsettled.

They spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing, telling stories and sipping on tea and wine before finally Violet and Sigor call it a night. Sherlock excuses himself from his seat to follow his father, getting close to him and whispering something to him conspiratorially as they walk into the kitchen.

Molly stands and walks over near Violet to help her clean up the wrappings left over from their one present party.

"So, dear, where will you be sleeping?" Violet asks and Molly is taken aback by the sudden and blunt question.

"What?" she asks, trying to make sure she has heard her right.

"Well, Mary and John are in the guest room, Mycroft is in his old room- do I need to tell Sherlock to take the couch or are you two-"

She makes a motion with her hands to imply what she obviously doesn't want to say, more so to keep Molly comfortable than because it would bother her.

"Oh! I uh- I don't… we never talked- um, I'm not sure?" Molly offers apologetically and Violet gives a knowing smile, "I didn't want to say anything but I had a feeling- I can tell you I'm so happy. But I didn't know if Will wanted us to know- though a mother always does. I will just let you two work it out and leave out some bedding down here incase you two decide not to- you know."

Molly nods, wishes her cheeks weren't burning so hard, "Yes thank you, that would be lovely." as Violet walks away Sigor and Sherlock re-enter, Sherlock catching his mother and murmuring something to her softly and the women's eyes brighten considerably.

Molly looks away, the smile falling from her face only to be plastered back on when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Sigor staring at her with such a fondness she isn't used to, not even Tom's father had seemed so taken with her, "Thank you for the song. Your voice is beautiful dear, and your skills are very impressive."

"Oh, you're welcome, it was my pleasure."

The silence between them is easy if not a little awkward before Sigor takes a breath and brings his fingertips to her chin and gently lifts up her face to look at him, she is shocked but she doesn't pull away, "Take care of him won't you? He's a fickle thing but a good man nonetheless."

Molly doesn't understand but she nods anyway and when Sigor gives a nod back he pulls away just as Sherlock walks up, "Have a good night you two, I'm afraid I will be up for a bit so I best go and find my book. Never sleep in all my years, just can't ever-" he mumbles as he walks off towards the kitchen.

"So, what was that about?" Molly asks looking towards Sherlock, his eyes are following his father, studying his retreating form, a wrinkle appearing in his brow as clever eyes seem honed in on something that Molly can't see.

"Sherlock?" she calls to him softly.

"Mmmm. What? Oh, yes, nothing for you to worry about. Not yet anyway."

Molly eyes him skeptically but doesn't push matters as Sherlock takes her hand and leads her from the room.

 **TEN MINUTES EARLIER**

Sherlock approaches his father as he exits the room, "Do you have it?"

"What?" Sigor asks as he looks after his son in confusion, Sherlock steers his father to the far end of the kitchen and takes him up by the shoulders, "Did you find it, the- thing."

Sigor smiles and glances around, "Oh! Yes. Took some digging, had to go through quite a few boxes in the upper but I suppose we never thought it would be needed what with you and Myke being so adamant about your independence."

The old man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a very old wooden box, small in size with a cursive ' _H'_ adorning the top.

"What is it with people of old and initials-" Sherlock murmurs as he gently takes the ancient thing and carefully opens it.

"You remember how it works?" Sigor asks, looking up at his son with a small smile.

"I believe I do, but that won't stop you from telling me again." he muses with knowing eyes and a small smile.

"This isn't a regular promise ring. The traditions in the Holmes family go back a long time, you make a promise to her, and if at anytime she feels you've broken that promise she is supposed to take it off."

"Communication without sentiment." Sherlock says at the same time as his father, though the old man places his hand over the box and looks to his son, "This tradition is a long time standing. I'd not judge if you decide to adapt it. Even tradition needs renovation sometimes. Communication is key, not everything has to be a puzzle to solve. And remember, if she does take it off- there is almost always a solution. Sometimes it's the smallest thing you would ever imagine. I can't tell you how many times your mother removed it because I left my shoes off the entryway mat."

Sherlock smirks at this and then sighs when he realizes his father is finished, "well, into battle then."

"Good luck my boy."

 **Present time, In the bedroom of William Sherlock Scott Holmes**

She is standing by the door, her hands twisting anxiously before her, her eyes scanning over everything. She had been in this room earlier with Violet but had not had enough time to really look.

Being here now, with him, sends a jolt of unexpected anxiety, which she regretfully admits to herself, is a reoccurring theme for her tonight. She closes her eyes, focuses hard on the red door and sees that there is a small mouse like hole at the base. Removing her cream cardigan she stuffs it with frustration into the hole and kicks the door for good measure before she mutters out a soft and irritated, "Later."

"What?" Sherlock asks as he removes his suit jacket and folds it over the back of a small wooden chair next to his old desk.

Molly's eyes pop open in surprise and she looks at him with a furrowed brow, "Nothing- nothing just- thinking."

Sherlock gives her a knowing smile and then proceeds to approach her as she looks anywhere but at him.

"This could be problematic, though also rather intriguing." he stands before her now, looking down upon her shifty face,

"Intriguing?"

"Oh, nothing, just some features of interest."

Molly gives him a look that simply asks him to clarify and he complies without protest, "Less than two hours ago I gave you a brief lesson in the art of mental disciplines and emotional control and now here you are- sounding and acting so much like me I fear I begin to see what others must have to deal with on a daily basis. It's the most- refreshing experience I've had to date. I will most definitely be watching you Miss. Hooper. You're picking up on the subtle nuances extremely quickly- even dear Mycroft would be impressed."

"All I need now is the funny hat." Molly quips and Sherlock gives her a bemused stare before he takes up one of her hands and places a kiss to the knuckles.

"I've got something for you. I suppose you could say it's an early gift for tomorrow. I thought it best not to mention it until we were alone. Great expectations and all that rubbish."

Molly feels her heart skip a beat, and something resembling butterflies fill her stomach, "Is it a funny hat? I do so like the hat."

This response is obviously an avoidance maneuver, both she and Sherlock know and Molly looks away as her smile falters. "Sorry- stupid, just a little- we've made a few big steps today and I'm not at all sure how to feel about it."

Sherlock nods his head, lips rolling together before piercing and his eyes glance to her face, "Perhaps I can help, let's play a game."

"A game? Now?"

"Afraid so, but you like games. Who doesn't?"

"Your brother Mycroft for one."

"Yes well, that's because he always loses. Should have seen his face when we played Operation. Always fumbles on the broken heart."

Molly finally allows a small laugh to escape and Sherlock takes a step or to back pulling her with him by a hand.

"You were in here earlier correct? With mummy Holmes?"

Molly nods and blushes but manages to maintain eye contact.

"Very good. Now, take your time and try to focus. What is in here now that wasn't in here before?"

"Aside from us?"

"Obviously, focus Molly." he says in that brash voice that she has become to accustomed to over the years. It brings a feeling of normalcy back to the front of her mind and she takes a breath before she scans the room.

Her eyes search slowly, shelves and books, the closet door and the floor, over the dresser and desk and then to the bed. Her eyes stop, her body goes very still and she thinks her breath escapes her.

For there, on a pillow rests a small wooden box, only a complete and total idiot would underestimate what could be inside. The size, shape and design all scream of one thing.

But Molly can't speak, her vocal cords are paralyzed, yet somehow she raises a shaky hand and points a lone finger towards the box.

"Excellent. Rather easy, in fact I'm sure even John would have noticed eventually."

"W-what is it?" Molly asks as she feels her eyes prickle and tears come unbidden to her cheeks.

"Perhaps, Miss. Hooper, you should investigate and see what you can deduce."

Unbidden by her, legs start to move, her wary eyes looking to him as she approaches the bed. Her open mouth seals as a shaky hand reaches out and takes up the old box with the most careful skill.

She closes her eyes a moment, tries to tell herself to remain calm, to assure herself this isn't what she thinks it is. She has deduced it all wrong as she is NOT a detective and knowing Sherlock it could be anything.

Gentle fingers lift the lid and inside, nestled between silk lips is a small silver ring, not decorated with gems or crystal but engraved with a beautiful cursive 'H' that matches the one on the lid.

She stares at it, her legs give and she plummets next to the bed, an arm hooked onto its edge to keep her from swooning to the floor. The shock in her system is so great in fact she lets out a squeak continues to stare even as Sherlock comes to kneel next to her.

"This ring is not exactly what it looks like. I thought of having you try to deduce its meaning but as it is only a tradition held in my own family-"

"A ring- a promise ring?" she offers as a guess because there is no way he would propose to her, it's not his area and even if it were she is just a _fuck_.

Sherlock seems to be able to read her thoughts and sighs, "Mary told me what happened in the kitchen. About the misunderstanding. I did not say what you think I said and I hope this item will help you come to believe me."

Molly looks to him with question and he decides to sidestep, she can see his unease so does not press.

"This ring is a promise ring, but it has the intent only a Holmes family heirloom can. If you put this on you are committing to me, only me. No one else. It's taken very seriously- you can tell we are an odd bit- our posh sense of self entitlements has created quite a bit of selfish and jealous behavior. Thus, the Holmes family ring was made. When you wear it you promise yourself to only me, and in return you have the ability to communicate even when you can't speak."

Another look from Molly presses him to explain further, "Should I ever break a promise I make to you, should I ever do something a bit not good- you remove the ring and leave it where I can see. It could be for something as small as snoring or as unforgivable as murder. But the point is, as long as the ring is off and I've done something that could damage us you hold the ability to recant your promise. Until I find the solution and make amends you can tell me you are unhappy without even having to say a word."

"And when you fix the problem?"

Sherlock smiles a little and cups her cheek, "You can decide if you wish to put the ring back on- or make me suffer. Though I prefer if you don't ass begging is deplorable and I find it tedious."

"You never do anything simply do you?" she says with a small waft of a smile.

"Never."

Molly nods and wipes the few stray tears from her face before she looks at him and nods, Sherlock in response removes the little silver ring from the box. As he takes her hand she notices a very slight tremor and she gives her first honest smile in hours, _he was nervous, he is nervous._

When Sherlock hesitates at the precipice of her finger Molly's heart jumps into her throat, "I should clarify and not lie- correct? Truth is good right now?"

Molly nods quickly, "Yes. At this moment honesty is an absolute must."

Sherlock nods his head and bit shakily and swallows, "Then I will amend my earlier statement. This isn't a promise ring."

Molly's eyes bulged and her jaw drops for a second time, "So- will you...preferably a bit down the road- consent to, in the foreseeable future consider- if you can see your way to- possibly-"

"Yes." she says as she leans forward and catches his lips with her own. They share this moment, crouched next to his childhood bed, silence engulfing them in something deep and passionate yet soft and unsure.

When she pulls away he is smiling, though for once he has no words to speak. He stares at the ring on her finger and then looks to her with something akin to worry, "I do think it's best if we do not discuss this with very many people. Those here will be sworn to secrecy and those who ask you outside of this house must be led astray for the time being."

"Why?" she asks softly though she already knows the answer.

"Molly, my enemies- if they should ever learn of your importance… if they should take you as a means to get to me. I'm not even remotely romantically entangled with John and he has been kidnapped, shot at nearly tortured and burned alive. I've no stomach to think what they might try and do to you. You are my heart. The woman who always mattered. It's not safe for me to love you, nor is it good. The consequences I instilled to you earlier still stand. This could end badly. For both of us. Until I am absolutely certain how things will play out, that I can guarantee your safety I request that we keep this hidden. P.D.A included. Can you do this for me? For a time?"

"Yes. Alright. I understand. Who should I say-"

Sherlock kisses her forehead, "Just say it's an old family heirloom, after all, the H could stand for Hooper just as easily as it could for Holmes."

They sit in a long silence, Molly and Sherlock staring at the ring before he gently helps her to stand, "This won't be easy." he offers.

"It never is with you is it?"

They look into each other's eyes and then Sherlock places his hands on her arms and rubs up and down reassuringly, "Well, best get ready for bed. Tomorrow looks to be more dull tedium and the sooner we sleep the sooner it begins and ends and we can return to normalcy."

"As normal as it can be with you." she offers cheekily.

As she turns to move away he gives her bum a gentle smack and she looks over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. Your arse is quite lovely. And it belongs to me now so best get used to it." he says adding a smirk and a wave of his hand in a rather dismissive gesture.

"Selfish jealous behavior indeed." she murmurs as she removes her cardigan but stops mid-fold.

She turns to him with a dangerous eye and an evil smirk, he fingers go to the ring and make a motion to slowly remove it.

Sherlock's attention is jerked to her activities and he scoffs and rolls his eyes, "You wouldn't, not for a smack on the bum."

"Wouldn't I?" she teases as she slips it off and tosses it to him, "Better _fix_ my problem. The solution is quite easy… think you can manage?"

His eyes cloud over and he stares at her with intense focus and a rather dark brooding demeanor.

"You are a clever little minx."

"Ah, finally noticed did you. Taken you long enough."

He approaches her and grips her wrist a little firmer than their game should entail, he places the ring back on her finger and then scoops her up into his arms before moving to the bed and sitting with his back on the headboard, one leg stretched before him the other hanging off the side.

Nuzzling into the nape of her neck and exhaling her scent he whispers out, "You know how I feel about begging."

Molly closes her eyes, leans her head back to give him better access, "Oh you better get used to it, because honestly, with this much power over you, I may very well become corrupted."

He doesn't bother with a clever comeback because his hand is to busy trying to quickly slide down her leggings, trying to hitch her panties to the side. Near desperate in his endeavour Sherlock nips her neck and Molly can't restrain a gasp, "Best be quiet, Mycroft is right next door- then again I suppose it would be rather satisfying to keep him up all night. He is rather annoying and I'd love to stop his kettle up abit."

His fingers finally reach their goal and he shoved his middle finger into her wet folds, Molly jerking at the force but savouring the feeling. He holds her closer, tightening his grip and begins to finger her in earnest. She tries to adjust, moves her hand to touch herself but he takes it with his remaining hand and keeps her from it.

Adding a second finger he continues to press in and out fiercely, Molly body continuing to jerk as he has his way, she complains none but buries her face into his chest and tries once more to free her wrist and touch herself.

"Afraid not love, I've got ages of time to play, I'm going to enjoy it and so are you."

He's going harder, hooking his fingers and rubbing her inner walls as he continues to assault her core with brutal force. Molly his biting her lip, a build of pressure making her core ach in the most wonderful way.

"Please." she whispers and Sherlock sucks in a breath, "Please Sherlock, please?"

"Not yet, as breathtaking as your please are I can't justify ending this so quickly."

So she continues to savour this, to focus and fixate on the feel of him working her into a melting mess of want and need. She's sweating now, leggings tangled around her ankles and panties pushed aside as he holds her tight and still, a prisoner to his wants.

After ages of a burning so potent she can't stand it he removes his fingers and she moans in protest, but before she can try to remedy the situation she feels him undoing his belt and pulling down his pants just enough to free himself.

"Suck." he says and she moves to accommodate. Kneeling before him, hands and knees on either side of his leg she takes him into her mouth and caresses him lovingly with her tongue. His hands instantly seize up the quilt they are one, head lulling back onto the wall. She continues to work her way down, pulling from him quiet grunts and moans as she coats him in her spit and moves him in and out of her mouth.

She doesn't get to play as long as he did, for soon he is gripping a hand into her hair and pulling her back up to him before delivering a deep and lavish kiss to her mouth.

Then, with quick and easy motions he turns her so that her back is to him, pulls her up his lap so that she can position herself over him. His hands dig into her hips and a small rip can be heard from the seam of her dress as he grips to tightly at the fabric. Pressing her down he sinks into her heat and both let out panted breaths of relief.

His hands come up to take the underside of her thighs and spreads her legs, her knees bent and heels pressing into the mattress. He has locked her into this position, her core spread to the room, his fingers surely going to leave bruises as he pulls her thighs to her chest and holds her tightly against him.

"Ready?" he asks as he kisses her shoulder.

She had no time to reply as he suddenly jerks and thrusts into her, a smacking sound resonating throughout the room. One hand leaves a thigh long enough to cover her mouth and pull her head back to rest on his shoulder, "Time to play the quiet game. Not a word, groan or squeak or I will stop. Understood?" Molly nods and his hand returns to its original purchase as his lips run down her throat and onto her shoulder where he starts to bite and suck with such determination she feels the bruise fork instantly.

And again he ruts into her, a hard swift stroke which echoes another wet smack into the room. The pleasure spikes in her gut and Molly has to bite her lip to keep from calling out.

He does this over and over, only a nanosecond of space in between until his pace is ungodly and Molly is being jerked up and down like a rag doll. Her cheeks are red, sweat slides down her face and temple and she thinks she is starting to develop tunnel vision.

When his hands leave the underside of her thighs she thinks it might be over, he is surely about to release, but one arm snakes about her chest, capturing her arms to her breasts and his other hand comes down to flick her nub.

This time she jerks so violently he nearly can't restrain her, every time he thrusts he also rubs and she can't stand it. A again and again until she knows she can't stop herself, and he is drinking in her euphoria and helpless state like a leech. Breathing heavily into her ear and murmuring things that only make her heat ten times worse.

"That's my girl, enjoy it- together on three- always together."

"Always!" she gasps out, a high faint breathy agreement.

"One-" and he thrusts again, "Two-" he's rolling her forward and pressing her into the bed on her stomach, "Three-" he grunts out as he hitches into her so deep she nearly tries to claw free.

But it doesn't matter for as his body presses her down, his arm still wrapped tightly around her and the other mercilessly assaulting her nub she spills out and shoves her face into the bed as she sings her completion. A pressure behind her eyes makes her see stars and his weight as he now gently ruts against her, emptying into her and holding her still so that he can finish his own fall, she's never felt more loved or more claimed by anyone.

She feels full, in more ways than one, spent and completed and this is the best Christmas she has ever had. He doesn't release his death grip, holds her there against him, remains inside for minutes. Breathing hot into her hair, his fingers occasionally giving a gentle and tender rub against her so sensitive clit that she jumps a little each time and he gasps a bit into her hair.

He kisses her shoulder, murmurs warm words of affection and when he does ease off her, removes their connection he pulls her to lay with him and stares at the ceiling. She lays next to him, the future Mrs. Holmes, unaware of what the future might hold, what anguish they might face or what adventures he may take her through.

But Molly Hooper knows one thing for sure, one thing in absolute entirety, if she only ever had the option to follow him to Hell, she'd take the plunge every time, because, in reality, one can never just be friends with Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
